Grazia de Mayo
by alexiasbooks
Summary: Don't worry. It's an alias... ML
1. Similarities

**Disclaimer:** Blah, blah, don't own 'em.

**A/N**: What siege of Terminal City? Never happened. In this story, a good number of the transgenics, faced with increasing publicity decided to take their chances in the welcoming north (Canada). Some stayed, and some continue to straggle over the border. They're not really important to this story... at all. Just know that they're there, and Max still takes care of them... sort of. Whatever, just read.

* * *

**Grazia de Mayo**

Chapter One: Similiarities

Annabella Montgomery-Cale had been everything her friends and family had wanted her to be. She'd been a beautiful daughter, a giving friend, a devoted wife, a loving mother, and a perfect hostess. To the world, the latter was what mattered most. There was the monthly Cale dinner party, which was never missed by any of its esteemed invitees, the seasonal ball for the Montgomery-Cale Society for the Protection of Widows and Orphans, the organization she founded when she was only twenty-four years old, the bi-weekly tea for the Seattle Public Library Board of Directors, and the list continued. She was, in short, the perfect woman of polite society.

Though the two had never met, Grazia de Mayo was startlingly similar to the late Mrs. Cale. She was a mystery to her friends, having arrived in polite society almost by accident on the arm of William Lucas-Patterson III. Apparently, the two had met while Will was vacationing at a ski resort in Canada, and within two weeks he was madly in love. When he returned to San Francisco, Grazia was by his side, and San Francisco society practically fell over themselves to welcome her. She was young, beautiful, intelligent, and her often stinging wit had them laughing so hard they cried. She immersed herself in charities that appealed to her, most notably the San Francisco branch of the Montgomery-Cale Society for the Protection of Widows and Orphans, into which she threw herself with a selfless devotion. It was whispered about town that Will Patterson had purchased an apartment in her name, and she drove a beautiful Mercedes. She didn't wear a ring, but popular opinion had it that they were "pre-engaged." Obviously, an engagement after only a month would be unseemly, but there wasn't any doubt in anyone's mind that Will would propose as soon as a suitable amount of time passed. He was too enamored not to, and she was just so lovely, and would be the perfect wife for him. It was all so very romantic.

Of course, it was considered romantic because everyone just assumed that Grazia was "of their kind." Her natural grace, her overwhelming aura of self-confidence, her sense of style, and her obvious sophistication all lent credence to the belief. Will had too much sense to fall in love with a low class woman, anyway. Everyone knew that. Grazia was, quite obviously, impoverished royalty or something similar. Her blood was the right color, and that was all that was important.

The night of the Spring Montgomery-Cale Society Ball was a beautiful, warm night, and all of San Francisco high society showed up to dance, mingle, and bid in a silent auction. That night was also special, because a speaker had arrived to address the glittering audience before the auction. The only son of Annabella Montgomery-Cale had arrived from Seattle to speak on the night that happened to fall on the anniversary of his mother's death. No one in San Francisco had seen Logan Cale, at least not in the last five years, but his reputation preceded him.


	2. The Guest of Honor

Chapter Two: The Guest of Honor

Logan splashed water on his face, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was surprised at how little he seemed to have changed in the last few years. He felt so much different, but the picture he'd found in the large gift basket in his hotel room proved that he hadn't changed… on the outside, at least. Sure, his eyes looked a little emptier, and his face was a little thinner, but, for the most part, he looked the same.

With a deep sigh of resignation, he wandered out of the bathroom and tossed the picture back into the gaudy gift basket full of food and reminders of some friend or distant cousin he could barely remember. He really, really didn't want to be in San Francisco, but he couldn't turn down the invitation. His mother would have been so proud if she'd known her charity was spreading down the West Coast. The Montgomery-Cale Society for the Protection of Widows and Orphans – the name made him laugh now. He'd never told Max about the charity, but he was pretty sure she'd get a kick out of the name. His mother had wanted her charity to be simple, exact, unbureaucratic, and the name said it all.

There was a polite knock on the hotel room door – his tux. He groaned and glanced at the speech resting on the bedside table. God, he really hated public speaking. Why couldn't he have turned down the offer to speak in public on the anniversary of his mother's death? Who'd been the genius to come up with the idea in the first place? Hadn't they even wondered if he'd be insulted by the idea? Of course not. He was supposed to be honored. For people who'd been bred to have the best manners, they had surprisingly little tact. With yet another exhausted sigh, he opened the door for his tux, and reconciled himself to the idea of a terrible evening.

* * *

As he stepped out of the clean black car, and onto the red carpet stretching out before the museum, Logan was struck, not for the first time, by the way rich people were able to completely ignore the fact that the pulse ever happened. Hell, the very state they lived in wasbankrupt, but they just ignored it. Logan decided, also not for the first time, that deep down, he kind of hated rich people. He didn't mind admitting it, because he didn't exclude himself from the list. 

There were photographers on the sidelines, and he avoided them with practiced ease. Logan, and only Logan, decided when his face was going to be in the news. He'd had a rather difficult time convincing the event planners to let him have his own way in this, but they finally relented. He wasn't obligated to chat up the press, and no cameras would be flashing or rolling while he was speaking. That was the deal. He could avoid everything else on his own.

To his left, he saw a familiar face approaching. Ah, yes, Melissa Brown-Littleton. He remembered her - petite, brunette, too perky for anyone to take really seriously, and yet she was the local President of the charity. For her sake, he pasted a small smile on his face. She grabbed onto his arm immediately, and began babbling about how inappropriate it was for the guest of honor to enter alone, and how fortunate it was that she just happened to be there, and how fortunate it was that her husband couldn't attend so that she could grace his arm, and did he get her gift basket? Yes, he had, he affirmed. Of course, then the incessant babbling continued. It was so good to see him again after so many years, she'd heard rumors about him, but they obviously weren't true, and didn't he just look fabulous, but then he'd always been so very handsome. It was a shame she was married. She'd always had such a crush on him.

Logan allowed himself to search the crowd for anything suspicious. He didn't expect any trouble, but being alert was second nature. He scanned the crowd for faces, outfits, and sounds that might be out of place, but nothing struck him as unusual. He'd attended hundreds of these things in his life. He knew what was normal and what wasn't. So far, nothing seemed in any way strange, except for the fact that he was there, but he still couldn't shake a feeling of… not-rightness. Never mind, he told himself, it was just one night. He just had to suck it up.

* * *

The tinkling of well-mannered laughter greeted Logan as he entered the festivities. It was a sound he knew all too well – polite enjoyment. No one was having too much fun, but everyone was appropriately entertained. The men all wore tuxedos that were more or less identical, and most of the women wore dresses and gowns of black, red, pink, or blue – all accepted society function colors. Logan remembered grimly that the seasonal balls when his mother had been alive, and for a few years after, had been colorful. Women wore gowns of colors that related to the season. Twenty-five years earlier, the spring ball would have been filled with pastels. Though, he wondered grimly, how many women in the room could still afford to buy four different dresses a year for what was, in effect, one ball repeated four times. 

The mingling began slowly. Mrs. Littleton introduced him to a few people, and then she disappeared to do more organizing (the work of a charity head was never done, that much Logan remembered). Then the people he'd been introduced to introduced him to more people, and soon he had a rather large audience, almost everyone asking questions about his mother and her charity work. As he answered their questions, he felt an odd mixture of pride and caution. He loved his mother, and he loved that she had wanted to save the world, but she was _his_ mother, and his memories were sacred. He didn't have many of them, after all.

Suddenly, Logan felt his arm reclaimed by Melissa Brown-Littleton. He recovered his "greet-the-hostess" smile and turned his attention to her. The rest of his audience realized that the hostess had first dibs on the guest of honor, and so they turned their attention to each other, but they didn't move away. Proximity to the guest of honor was almost as good as talking to him.

"Logan, now, I have to introduce you to someone. She joined our organization about three months ago, and she has devoted herself to your mother's cause with such a passion," Melissa suddenly laughed, "I think she'll have my job soon."

As Logan let the woman pull him from his group, and navigate through the crowd, he caught a glimpse of startling, pure, almost blinding white gown among the sea of dull colors. He smiled, and then he caught a glimpse of the shoulders above the snow-white dress, the fall of dark hair...He inhaled sharply. No, it couldn't be... She was in Canada... and _she_ wouldn't be at a ball. It was nothing but wish fulfillment. He'd just been thinking of her, right? Well, he was always thinking about her, so that wasn't different. It was just… those shoulders; he knew those shoulders, and the dark hair that wafted around them. No… it couldn't be her.


	3. Grazia

Chapter Three: Grazia

As Melissa Brown Littleton enthusiastically dragged him toward the woman in white, Logan felt his heart beating an erratic tattoo. He could feel a shimmer of hope somewhere in his heart, but he fought it down, or tried to. He swallowed thickly, tried to think of something else, anything else, but they were getting closer, and as the crowd thinned, he could see the curve of the neck, the profile of the face, and then Melissa was calling out over the noise.

"Will! Grazia!"

She turned then, as did the man next to her. Logan could have sworn his heart stopped. What the _hell_ was she doing here? Their eyes met, and he couldn't look away. A small, secret smile played around the corners of her mouth. He knew that smile. He knew every smile. Max…

"Will, I would like to introduce you to our guest tonight, Logan Cale. Logan, this is William Lucas-Patterson III." The two men shook hands politely, as Logan forced himself to take his eyes off of Max. She was so beautiful, so very, very beautiful.

"And this," Melissa continued brightly, "is our second star of the night. Logan _this_ is Miss Grazia de Mayo. Grazia, this is Logan Cale. Logan, I cannot tell you how much Grazia has done in the last three months. She's an angel."

While Logan had to completely agree, he was suddenly faced with a rather disturbing dilemma. Technically, they were being introduced. At this point, he was supposed to shake her hand. He glanced up at Max, not even hearing as Melissa continued to sing her praises. He held out his hand, trusting that Max wouldn't let him die, but unable to come up with any alternative. Max smiled, and reached out her own, and for a moment he thought… but then, "miraculously" she was overcome by a rather large sneeze.

"Oh dear," she laughed lightly, once the mandatory round of "bless you" was over. "I'm sorry. How terribly rude of me!"

"Don't mention it," Logan replied with equal lightness, though he felt an inexplicable wave of crushing disappointment. He retracted his hand, and searched for something to say. It was his job to lead the conversation, but he definitely couldn't say the things he really wanted to say. "I… well, thank you for all your hard work. I'm sure my mother would have appreciated it."

"Well," she shrugged, though it wasn't the same hard-ass shrug he'd become accustomed to, "not to oversimplify things, but I find I'm rather passionate about saving widows and orphans." There it was – that mocking little smile that made him want to touch her lips so badly. How on Earth had he survived the last six months without her?

"Will you excuse me? I'm just going to hop on over to the ladies room for a moment," Max smiled. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Logan."

"All mine," Logan insisted gallantly. Then, to Logan's great horror, William Lucas-Patterson III, pulled Max (Grazia) into him and kissed her on the cheek. A flame of jealousy ripped through Logan's chest as he watched, and it took all his presence of mind to not let his pasted smile leave his face. As she accepted the token of endearment, Max's eyes fluttered to the ground. She wouldn't look at him. She pulled away and made her exit without a single glance in his direction.

"So, you've come all the way from Seattle?" Will asked politely. Logan pulled his eyes away from Max's retreating figure, and, to his credit, didn't punch the snotty little rich kid in the mouth.

"Yeah," Logan replied.

"It's beautiful up there this time of year. I was up north just a few months ago – Canada – that's where I met Grazia."

"Oh, really?"

"Ski resort," the younger man added, and then he winked. He _winked_. Again, Logan didn't hit him, but he would have paid any amount to be able to.

"So… Patterson," Logan suddenly said, desperate to change the subject. "That name sounds so familiar."

"Patterson Electronics."

"Right…" and suddenly Logan remembered. This kid's father was a criminal! Eyes Only had looked into Patterson Electronics for transporting smart chips overseas to terrorist cells. Unfortunately, Logan hadn't been able to dig enough up. He tried to remember if he'd known Max at the time. What was she doing at a society ball with the son of a criminal?

As the chaos of questions swarmed in his mind, Logan forced himself to make small talk with Mr. Patterson and Mrs. Littleton, deftly steering the conversation away from any and all mentions of the beautiful, talented, and brilliant Miss de Mayo. He waited to see if she would return, but after ten minutes, Logan realized that she was avoiding him. He wouldn't have any chance of speaking to her unless she wanted to speak with him, and he was pretty sure she didn't.

* * *

"And so, I would just like to thank you all for your dedication to my mother's dream," Logan finished his speech. "This is more than she could have imagined."

Across the floor, he saw Max, in her angelic white gown, sitting with a group he recognized as the Patterson family. He watched her as he spoke, only occasionally moving his gaze to make eye contact with the others in the room. She watched back, listening with rapt attention, giving the situation an odd feeling of déjà vu, and an undercurrent of inappropriate intimacy. He watched her as he stepped down from the stage, as he found his seat. He could feel her eyes on the back of his neck as the second part of the evening commenced, and the charity auction opened. Sometime during the bidding, he felt her leave, and when the auction ended, and he finally looked behind him, his feeling was confirmed. She'd left.


	4. Not Panic

**A/N:** Short chapter. So sue me. Speaking of which...

**Disclaimer:** I, Alexiasbooks, claim no legal authority or ownership over the characters or anything owned by James Cameron and Co.

* * *

Chapter Four: Not Panic

"Logan! There you are! Leaving already?" Melissa Littleton cornered him as he was about to leave.

"Yeah, it's been a long day," Logan conceded.

"Well, I'm glad I caught you, because I have wonderful news. Grazia de Mayo's having a little get-together tomorrow, just a small group of friends, you know, and she wanted me to promise to invite you. I tell you, she was quite adamant. She had to run, of course. She wasn't feeling well. Anyway, you will come, won't you?"

"Well, if she was adamant…"

"Absolutely! Oh she wouldn't leave until I'd given her my word. I'll send a car for you tomorrow at five o' clock in the evening. Dress is cocktail. Oh, everyone's simply abuzz. It's Grazia's first party. I can't wait to see her apartment."

Logan wished the talkative little woman a good evening and stepped into the waiting black Sedan. Max had made Melissa swear to invite him. She'd avoided him that evening, but now she was seeking him out? It didn't make any sense, but he didn't care. Tomorrow night, he would see Max again. That was what really mattered. Maybe he'd be able to corner her and get some answers.

* * *

Logan had spent quite a bit of time studying ceilings in his life, but he had to admit, the one he was currently staring at was one of the nicest. It had been painted to look similar to the Sistine Chapel, only without all the nudity. Melissa Brown-Littleton had certainly shelled out a good chunk of cash for his hotel room. It was exceptionally clean, the minibar was completely stocked, the ceiling had a _mural_ complete with chubby, half-dressed, happy cherubs, the view from the balcony was breathtaking, and the bed was one of the softest Logan had ever felt. What a damn shame that he barely noticed any of it. 

His mind was racing. He glanced wearily at the bedside clock, and let out an exhausted sigh. Four hours later, and his mind was still racing. He couldn't get the image of Max out of his mind. She'd been so dazzlingly beautiful, his breath still caught in his throat when he remembered the moment when she'd first turned around. What was she doing there?

From what he could learn, she called herself Grazia de Mayo, and Mr. Lucas-Patterson was completely enamored with her. There was talk of marriage. A wave of panic washed over him at the thought, but he decided, and quite firmly, that it wasn't panic at all. It was just surprise. Surprise and confusion was keeping him awake, nothing else. What was going on?

* * *

**A/N:** TBC (because a very nice reviewer brought it to my attention that I should probably put that at the end of my chapters; I'm still trying to get the hang of this place). I might have another chapter up tonight. 


	5. Life's a Party You Have to CleanUp After

**A/N:** C'est le temps pour beaucoup d'angst, mes amis. Beaucoup d'angst.

* * *

Chapter Five: Life's a Party You Have to Clean Up After

Walking into the apartment of Grazia de Mayo, Logan had to admit he was impressed. It was large, nowhere near as large as his own, but large nevertheless, and everywhere it had been possible to put a window there was a window. The décor was nice, obviously expensive, and seemed to reflect very little of the Max he knew, unless she had a passion for pastels he'd never known about. More than likely, an interior decorator had been employed, and Max had very little to say in the matter. All in all, Logan knew, it must have cost a fortune, and it made his head spin. Patterson money had bought Max an apartment, and, if the gossip was right, a brand new Mercedes. He couldn't do that for her. Hell, even if he'd tried, she would have refused.

She was standing in the foyer when he entered, and, as soon as she turned to him, her face lit up in a gorgeous smile. She looked lovely and sophisticated in a flouncy pink skirt and a red silk camisole. He'd never seen her look more feminine, and his jealousy increased, along with an emotion he couldn't describe, though he thought it felt a lot like regret.

They drew near to each other, as near as they dared, and her smile became more conspiratorial. Reluctantly, he stuck his hands into his pockets. It was a defense he'd adopted. It really was the only way he could ensure he wouldn't reach out and run his fingers through her hair. Besides, it seemed to help Max relax when he took more responsibility for his own life, and she didn't have to keep backing away.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey yourself," he replied just as quietly.

"You're the last to arrive," she revealed, and she bit her lip slightly, "I thought you might not show."

"The driver got lost," he assured her. She nodded, and he took the chance to steer the conversation. "Nice place."

"Yeah, I guess. The windows make me a little uncomfortable. I feel like I'm inside a television."

Logan laughed, silently glad that she didn't seem as fond as the apartment as most women would be. It relieved some of the jealousy, but increased his confusion. He wondered if she really was just in it for the money, or what the hell was going on if she wasn't. Whatever was happening, she was taking it all in stride, just as she always did.

"So, were you surprised?" Max suddenly asked, with a teasing gleam in her eyes.

"To see you? In San Francisco? Hobnobbing with the elite at my mother's charity? Nah!" He winked at her, and he could have sworn Max blushed.

"Imagine my delight when I arrived in San Francisco and was invited to a meeting of the Montgomery-Cale Society…"

"For the Protection of Widows and Orphans," Logan finished for her with a grin. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm sure you spent a good five minutes silently congratulating yourself for your preemptive cleverness."

"Yeah," she replied, and her voice lilted in a way that forced a dozen different memories through Logan. Then, as if purposefully coming to break through the euphoric feeling of being near her, William Lucas-Patterson III arrived and wrapped an affectionate arm around Max's waist. He kissed her cheek, and Logan felt his breath hitch in his throat.

"Grazia, darling, you're the hostess, and you're out in the hallway?"

"Sorry," Max smiled, carefully avoiding Logan's eyes, "I was just making sure Mr. Cale arrived. I didn't really get a chance to talk to him last night, you know, and I…"

"Time for that later," Will smiled as he acknowledged Logan, holding out his hand with a "nice to see you again."

"Likewise," Logan lied through his teeth.

"Let's go," Max smiled, leading the way into the living room, Will's arm still around her waist. Logan tried valiantly, and failed, to fight the rising rush of insane and bitter envy that boiled inside of him. The two-year-old in him shouted "No! She's mine!" and, he almost turned and left, but her very existence was magnetic. He couldn't leave, he was drawn to her.

The scene in the living room was one that Logan was more than familiar with. A dozen beautiful people, most of them young, all of them wearing clothes that couldn't be more expensive if they were actually made of spun gold. When Max entered the room, all eyes turned on her, and Logan was struck by how out of place he felt, and how perfectly Max seemed to fit in. Before his eyes she stopped being Max, transgenic cultural fugitive and former bike courier, and became Grazia de Mayo, darling of San Francisco's high society. She fit perfectly into the role, and for a moment, as she crossed the room and took a seat beside Melissa Littleton with a ladylike flourish, Logan could have sworn he saw his mother. The eerie similarity would haunt him for the next two hours.

* * *

Logan was tired. He was tired and he was feeling sick. He told himself that he didn't understand why Will Patterson had to keep touching her, as if she would disappear if his arm wasn't firmly situated around her waist, or her fingers weren't entwined in his. Of course, he knew that, given the chance, his fingers wouldn't leave Max for a moment if it weren't absolutely necessary, but that was a different situation entirely. 

He was leaning against the living room wall, talking quietly with Melissa, and keeping his eyes on Max. She was sitting on the couch with Will reclining beside her, his right arm resting on the back of the couch as his fingers stroked her hair, and his left hand rested just above her knee. Envy crawled up from Logan's toes to his ears, and he gripped the glass in his hand with a desperate need to have a physical barrier between his fingers and the little bit of skin that showed when Max leaned over to rest her glass on the coffee table. His hand fit so well right there, he remembered… they'd danced.

"Isn't she lovely?" Melissa whispered suddenly, calling Logan's mind back to the present. He saw Max's involuntary glance in their direction, and he knew she'd heard. Suddenly, a seething clash of anger and resentment flared up inside him. He'd been there for two hours, and she hadn't even looked at him once. For two hours, he'd been forced to smile, and make small talk, while that preppy little bastard touched her, and kissed her, and… claimed her.

"Yeah," he replied, as calmly as possible, "She reminds me of someone I used to know." Melissa looked intrigued. Max looked… exactly the same, which was to say, completely different. Logan thought he would vomit.

"Will you excuse me," he said quietly, heading for door. He didn't head directly toward it, of course. He detoured through the kitchen, and then from the foyer he opened the door as quietly as possible, and then he made his exit. He didn't know if Max had noticed, and for those brief moments, he actually didn't care.

Then the moments passed, and he wanted her to care. He wanted her to know he was disgusted. He wanted to hurt her, because she obviously wasn't. She had everything now. William Lucas-Patterson III loved her, would marry her, and probably would even make her happy. At least he could touch her. At least he could hold her when she needed to be comforted. Or could he? Could he know why she needed comforting? Logan seriously doubted that the debonair Patterson heir knew that his future in-laws were a couple of embryologists and a government agency. The thought gave him momentary amusement, and then he regretted it. Why should he be angry that Max was happy? Wasn't that what he wanted for her? Why did he hate that she would be rich, and happy, _and_ devoted to helping people? Because he could have given her that, and life just wouldn't let him.

Logan knew he should leave. He couldn't go back into the party. His eyes would explode if he saw that jackass' hand on Max's leg one more time. He couldn't leave. Max was in there, and his entire being screamed to go back in there and soak up the sight of her, the sound of her voice, the airy music of her laugh – a laugh he'd never even heard before that evening. He wanted to memorize everything about her. He needed those memories. Pathetically enough, he survived on them. No. NO! He had to leave. He couldn't do that again. He could live without her. He knew that. He just had to turn around and leave.

"Hey."

He hadn't even heard the door open. He turned, and was just… awed by her, the way he always was. The look in her eyes was quiet, maybe sad, he couldn't tell. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He wouldn't touch her. He wouldn't move toward her either. He couldn't, and he knew it, but oh, God, he wanted to… so badly.

"Hey," he replied, searching for a decent lie, and trying not to meet her eyes. "I didn't want to interrupt, but, I should get going. I've got… work to do at home, and it's a long drive…"

She nodded. She knew it was a lie. He knew she knew. Neither was going to admit it. That was their way, or it had become their way in the weeks before she'd left. Why spend time together? It just hurt them both. They stood in silence for a moment, and Logan wondered whether he should just say goodbye and leave, but then she spoke, and his eyes flew to her face, and they locked with hers.

"Not that long."

"Long enough." He sighed, "This was a bad idea, Max."

"I know," she whispered, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. "I just… I wanted to talk to you, and I had to leave last night. The party was a bad idea, but I was afraid you'd go back to Seattle, and I wanted to…" she stopped, and she seemed to honestly have no words for what she wanted to say. When she met his eyes again, he saw that they were noticeably reflecting the light. His chest tightened, and he fought it. He fought instinct.

"I should go," he whispered, and he was surprised by the hoarseness of his voice. He shut his eyes for a moment, to block out the sight of her, and when he spoke again his voice was decidedly calmer, cooler. "It was nice seeing you again."

"Wait…" she started. That was all it took. The pain within him erupted.

"Max, I can't do this!" He shouted, and then, surprised by the acoustics of the empty hallway, immediately lowered his voice to a fierce hiss. "You know that. He can't keep his hands off you, and who can blame him? But I can't just stand there and watch! So go back in, and be happy. I'm going back to Seattle."

His words seemed to hit her like a physical blow. Her head snapped up, her glassy eyes narrowed, and her stance changed completely. He'd hurt her, and he knew it. At least she looked like Max again, even in her girly outfit. She'd crossed her arms, and her right hip jutted out slightly as she eyed him coolly.

"Fine," she replied icily, turning on her stiletto heels and reaching for the apartment door. A silent moan rose in Logan's throat as he realized that he might never see her again, and the last words he'd said to her were angry. God, he was pathetic. God, he wanted her.

He listened for the turn of the doorknob, the clicking of her heels, but the sounds never came. He looked up after a few moments and saw her leaning with one hand on the doorknob, the other resting against the door itself, palm flush with the smooth white surface, her head slightly bent. For the tenth time in only three years, Logan felt his heart truly break. She was so young, why did life have to play with her the way it did?

"I'm sorry, Max," he whispered, mentally kicking himself.

"I'm sorry too." She looked at him, and he saw that a tear was winding its way down her cheek. He took a step toward her and dug his short fingernails into the skin of his palms. They both took a deep breath, and finally, Max gave him a small, exhausted – dare he say heartbroken – smile.

"Listen," she whispered. "Will you come back? Tonight, I mean. Will won't be here, I promise. I… we should talk."

"Ten o' clock?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sure. You won't get lost this time?"

Logan smiled. She was teasing him. That was always a good sign. "I'll make sure I'm here on time."

"Good," she seemed to waver for a moment, but then she caught his gaze and kept it. "I went to the ball for a reason," she said calmly, forcefully. He understood her.

"I'll be here at ten."

"Okay."

"Goodbye, Max."

"Bye, Logan."

As he turned to walk away, he heard the apartment door open, and her pointy little heels click inside. He felt sick, and exhausted, and elated, and terrified, and heartbroken, and… he couldn't even describe it. He just knew he had three hours to burn before he could return, and he wondered how on Earth he would keep his mind off her long enough for time to pass.

* * *

TBC... 


	6. Kaboom

**A/N: **By the way, if anyone has a good way to summarize this story, I'm all ears, so to speak. I have no idea how to describe this story. I'm into the writing, but not so much into the marketing, as is evidenced by my lack of a clever and amusing title (considered a necessity by English professors everywhere). All suggestions are welcome, and, hey, maybe the winner will get a prize or something.

**A/N:** Also - thank you all for your wonderful reviews. It's been very encouraging, especially considering I'm still not sure how I feel about this one. Anyway, on with the show.

* * *

Chapter Six: Kaboom

At 10:02 exactly, Logan entered the apartment building. He'd changed out of his party clothes and into jeans and a button-up, and the doorman eyed him suspiciously. With a sigh, Logan realized that he couldn't just say he was there to see Max, so he did what he always did. He thought on his feet.

"Yes, can you ring the woman in apartment 1412 and tell her I think I left my watch on her coffee table?" he asked the disapproving doorman.

"Your name?"

"Logan Cale." No sense lying about that.

"One moment." Logan almost laughed when the doorman turned to call up to Max's apartment. Just one year before, Max had had to give the new doorman at Fogle Towers a very stern talking to for not allowing her up, and now here he was on the opposite end of the buzzer. Before, he'd only had to get past Original Cindy, though, admittedly, that had been pretty difficult some days.

"Okay, Mr. Cale, you can go on up," the doorman informed him.

The elevator ride was incredibly nerve-racking for Logan. He couldn't wait to see Max, couldn't wait to talk to her alone, but he was nervous. He wanted to know how her life had been for the last six months. He wanted to know how she'd met her rich boyfriend. He wanted to know if she knew her boyfriend's father was a criminal. He wanted to know if her boyfriend knew who she was - who she really was - because he seriously doubted that Patterson did.

He knocked politely, and stepped back. He stuck his hands into his pockets, and he waited. He thought he heard a scuffle from inside, and almost knocked again when the door flew open. Logan nearly choked when he saw the man in front of him.

"Alec?"

"Logan! Buddy! Come on in!"

Stepping inside, Logan quickly walked into living room and saw Max, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked so much more relaxed in jeans and a tank-top, though her stance was not. This was the Max he remembered. She smiled when Logan entered, but it was obvious that she was angry with Alec. They were still acting like petulant children, still locked in their parody of sibling rivalry. It comforted him somehow.

"Sorry," Max shrugged. She glared at Alec, who obviously got the message and disappeared into the kitchen.

"It's okay," Logan laughed, "I'm just a little surprised to see him."

"Yeah, he shows up every once in a while. He gives me updates on the others, what they need, I give him money to go away; it works."

"Hopefully the money ends up with the others in Canada?" Logan smirked.

Max laughed slightly, and the tension in the air seemed to fade. "Hopefully, since that was the original idea," she replied.

"So, how've you been?" Logan asked cautiously.

Max sighed and walked over to one of the large windows. It was uncanny how similar a picture it was to when she used to stand by his windows and tell him her troubles. He even had that tingling of déjà vu at the back of his neck. It was reassuring, seeing her like that – the way he remembered her. Milky moonlight flooded through the windows and cast an odd shine on her hair. She looked almost… ethereal.

"Would you think I was a terrible person if I said I wasn't exactly fine?"

Logan let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He shook his head, "No, you never liked having to lead a double life. The trappings of wealth don't necessitate happiness. Believe me, I'm the expert."

Max turned and smiled at him. Then she was moving again, across the living room and into the foyer. She looked back at him, indicating that he should follow, so he did. They ended up in the bathroom. Logan tried to hide his confusion, especially when Max pulled the top off her toilet, but everything became clear when she took out a large plastic bag. Safely sealed inside was a regular manila envelope. She took it out of the bag and handed it to him carefully, just holding onto the very edge.

"I was going to send this with Alec, but, I might as well give it to you now," she half-explained.

With a fervent curiosity, Logan undid the clasp to the envelope and pulled out the contents. At his very first glance, he knew what they were. They were copies of incriminating evidence – evidence against Patterson Electronics, evidence against William Lucas-Patterson II. There were company memos, transcripts of phone conversations, even photographs. Logan looked up at Max with surprise. She smiled almost shyly at him, and shrugged as she maneuvered past him and out the door.

Logan felt a rush of surprise and gratitude. He smiled, "Max, how did you know?"

"You mentioned it a long time ago, one of the many you never had enough evidence to nail, so I figured, you know, if you're still interested…"

"Thank you," he said breathlessly, absolutely touched by the gesture. As usual, Max shrugged it off.

"So… how's life?" she asked, plopping down onto the couch with affected lightness, but quite obviously trying to change the subject.

"It's… routine," he finally answered. "I get up, I save the world, I go to bed…"

Max laughed, and the elephant in the room was firmly established. She looked so comfortable, stretched out on her couch, that Logan couldn't bear to say anything that might upset her. He couldn't ask her what she thought an Eyes Only broadcast about the evils of Patterson Electronics would do to her boyfriend. Instead, he took a seat across from her, and waited for her to continue the conversation. Unfortunately, she seemed content inspecting her perfectly manicured nails to come up with a topic.

"Oh!" He said suddenly, prompted by Max's manicure, "I spoke to Original Cindy the other day."

"Oh?" Max suddenly perked up, obviously excited to hear his news.

"She's doing well. She's in love – one of the new bike messengers. I saw them at the market the other day, she's cute. Not who I assumed to be Original Cindy's type, but cute."

"And what exactly did you think was OC's type?" Max asked, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Oh, you know, exotic, tough, tendency to get into trouble," Logan replied with a straight face.

Max smiled knowingly, "Sounds about right. And this new girl?"

"Emmy – she's tiny. I don't know how she manages to deliver packages all day."

"They seemed happy, though?" Max asked cautiously, biting just slightly on her lower lip.

"Very."

"Good." They lapsed into silence again, and Logan became aware of the sound of Alec messing around in Max's kitchen. Logan couldn't help giving a short laugh. He always did the same thing at Logan's apartment too. Hell, he even raided the kitchen when Logan was staying at Joshua's. The guy was a walking stomach. At least Max had his permission when she did that.

"I'm glad you came down," Max said quietly.

"I am too," Logan replied with equal solemnity. "If I'd known you were hanging out with Melissa Littleton, I would have taken a drive down here earlier."

"So, you do know Melissa?"

"Yeah, I've spent some time in San Francisco. Our mother's went to boarding school together."

"Really? She told me stories, but I didn't realize the connection." She paused and just looked at him for a second. He had the distinct feeling that she was weighing his reaction. Finally, she said gently, "Sounds like your mom was an amazing person."

"She was," Logan replied with a bit of hesitation. "She really was."

A shrill ringing echoed through the apartment, causing Logan to start slightly. Max smiled apologetically before lifting her hips slightly to pull her cell phone out of her pocket. A frown marred her features as she checked the caller ID and quickly snapped open the phone. Her greeting, however, was light and musical. It soon became apparent that she was talking to Will, the realization driving all thoughts of comfort from Logan's mind. He listened to the conversation with interest, and the resentment and envy he'd been able to quash in the last three hours came rushing back.

"Sorry," she said quietly when she closed the phone. "I told him I didn't feel well, so he was just calling to check up on me." She was avoiding his eyes again. "He's not a bad guy."

Suddenly, Logan couldn't wait to get out of the stifling presence of the new Max. "Right, well, I'll wait a couple weeks to air this information. You might want to give him some warning." He said it with such calmness, and he had absolutely no idea how he managed it. He was ready to go. He had his answers. Max was okay. He could return to his empty apartment now. He stood, and Max watched

Max scoffed. "You're mad?"

"No, Max. I'm not mad, I'm resigned," he lied. He lied through his teeth. He wasn't just mad, he was pissed. He'd been an idiot! He'd allowed himself to be drawn back into the comfort of her presence. "I understand," he continued. "You should stay here, and you should be happy. If you need anything… you have my number."

"Fine," Max scoffed. She jumped to her feet and stalked over to the window. Great, now she was pissed. Logan grimly turned away, but Alec chose that moment to interrupt from the kitchen.

"Jeez, why can't you two be in the room together for more than ten minutes without fighting? For people who claim to like each other, you guys sure don't act like it."

"Are you here for any other reason than to annoy us?" Logan snapped.

"Alec, are you staying or going?" Max spat at the same time.

Alec shrugged, "Staying."

"Then get your ass into the guest room and leave us alone!"

Alec laughed, "Always taking it out on me." He shook his head as he left the room, laughing as he went. The sound jarred Logan's last nerve. He must have made some noise to acknowledge the fact, because Max turned on him. Her expression was emotionless, but in her voice was everything that was anger and pain.

"You know what? Just go. You obviously want to leave, so leave."

"That's the plan." He turned to leave again, but he just had to ask. He couldn't leave without knowing. The question was boiling just beneath his surface. "Doesn't it bother you?" he practically shouted.

"What?" she snapped.

"You're sleeping with the enemy!"

"No, I'm sleeping with the son of the enemy. There's a difference." Even though he'd known (he wasn't an idiot, after all), the actual acknowledgement of the sexual aspect of the relationship stung Logan to his core. Even the richest man wouldn't buy an apartment for a beautiful woman he'd never touched, he knew, but the idea that someone else was spending his nights with her, was touching her, kissing her…

When his mouth opened again, Logan couldn't believe the words that escaped. They were vindictive, he was reacting to the pain, and he regretted it almost instantly. "I'm done, Max," he spat. "Okay? I'm done. I can't do this anymore."

"Figures," Max shrugged, her tone biting and her eyes full of hurt.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ that you can't hack it! A little unpleasantness and you're out."

"Look who's talking!" Logan couldn't believe he was on this side of the conversation. How had their roles reversed so completely? "I didn't leave town!" he reminded her.

"No, but you wanted me to."

Logan recoiled when Max's accusation hit him. "Bullshit!" he shouted in utter exasperation. "Why would I want you to leave? Do you realize how worried I've been about you?" The ache in the pit of his stomach that had been growing for so many months threatened to completely overcome him. How could he be standing in the same room with her, finally, after six interminable months, and they were fighting? It wasn't right! He'd missed her so much, but now he was acting like such a prick. God, their lives were so fucked up.

"Well, sorry," she replied sarcastically, and her tone stabbed his heart. They were silent for a moment, and any idiot looking on might think that they were cooling down, but Logan knew they were only getting more riled up. He looked at her, trying to gauge what her next move would be, but she only stared at him with something close to contempt in her eyes, or so it seemed to Logan.

"I never asked you to worry about me," she reminded him coldly.

"Well, that never stopped me before." She knew that. He'd always worried about her. Even when he hadn't liked her very much, he'd still worried about her. "I mean, Jesus, Max, you didn't even say goodbye!" Max stayed silent, so he continued. " I was paging you for two days! I started checking hospitals."

"Well, I was pissed!" Max spat. "You kept lecturing me about my 'responsibilities' like I didn't have any clue that I'm responsible for the others. Every time I saw you, you wanted to lecture me. God, it felt like you were just trying to get me to leave!"

"Yeah, the room!" Logan admitted, "I didn't want you to go to Canada! I just couldn't stand being in the same room with you anymore." He took a few steps forward to add emphasis to his point. "All we did was fight! You were just there, and you were perfect, and I couldn't even touch you!"

"So you took it out on me? Real mature. We used to be able to talk!"

"We used to have some hope!" Max shrank back, and Logan suddenly realized what he'd said. He'd never really acknowledged it before. He'd never really realized the reason they'd started fighting was because he couldn't stand just being friends anymore. It wasn't enough, and it was too much at the same time. He'd given up.

"Yeah?" she suddenly cried out, "and when was that? Huh, Logan? The first time we couldn't get a cure? Or the second? Or the one that only lasted ten hours, which we were stupid enough to blow? You had hope-" she pointed an accusing finger at him, "I gave up a long time ago, but I needed you to be my friend, and you wouldn't. Can you really blame me for leaving?"

To his horror, Logan saw that tears were threatening to fall from her eyes, and he had to force himself to look away. He felt like filth, like mold. He was a bastard. He could hear her breathing, it was hollow and short, like his own. His gaze flew back to her, and their eyes locked. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how they'd ended up so miserable. Had their doomed relationship really managed to wear away everything that was good about their friendship? He loved her so much that it hurt to look at her, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. The perpetual ache of need, and hurt, and jealousy, and desire flared up savagely within him, and he couldn't believe he'd survived six months without a single word from her.

He took a step toward her, and for once she didn't take a step back. His breathing was ragged, it echoed in his ears, and he wanted to take a break and regroup, but he couldn't. She just stood there, and he could only watch as her uneven breaths seemed to shake her entirely. Thoughts flitted through Logan's brain, none fully registering but all leaving their mark. What were they doing? Why were they fighting? They might never see each other again, and they were acting like they hated… He felt a strangled sort of panic when he realized that she'd told him to leave, and had probably meant it. He didn't want to leave. He couldn't leave. He needed to be near her.

His mind went blank when he reached for her.

* * *

**A/N2.0: **TBC... 

**A/N2.0: **I like Alec. He amuses me. He does not, however, inspire me to write shippery things about him. This is the nature of our writer/character relationship. Nevertheless, he will return, just not in a romantic capacity. That is all.


	7. Euphoria

**A/N:** Yeah, this was originally part of chapter six, but I wanted to split up the fun stuff. Also, I thought I'd mention that chapters five, six, and, to a much lesser extent, seven were all written with the Foo Fighters "Best of You" on repeat. In fact, the whole idea for the story came to me while I was listening to it. So, if you're looking for mood music - there you go.

* * *

Chapter 7: Euphoria

His mind went blank when he reached for her. It wasn't a thought-out action; he didn't even realize he was doing it until it was done – his arms were around her and their lips met with a shock of heat and longing. With one hand, he grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, while the other lost itself in her dark hair. When his lips melted against hers, her hands automatically flew up to push him away, but he wanted to touch her more than she wanted to push him away, and they both knew it. Her protesting hands wrapped around his neck as she began to respond to his urgent kiss. A feeling of euphoria drifted over him as her lips began to move against his, as they opened to him. He pulled her closer, craving her, wanting to feel her body pressed completely against him. He kissed her with everything in him, praying that she would understand. He needed her.

When he felt goosebumps rising on the skin beneath his fingers, he lost all pretence to sanity. Conscious thought flew out the window, and a quiet, desperate moan escaped from the back of his throat as they both fought for nearness, for satiation. The longing, the craving for her only intensified as the embrace became more passionate, more desperate.

She pulled away first, breaking through the cloud that had enveloped Logan's senses. As he felt her lips leave his, Logan realized that he couldn't breathe. He gasped twice, unable to even comprehend the ache that had quite suddenly sprung up inside him the moment her lips left his, and his lips moved toward hers once more, but she pulled away again and he forced himself to open his eyes. She was looking at him with a look of fear, and he suddenly remembered why exactly it was that he wasn't supposed to grab her and kiss her senseless. He fought against the craving that was racing through his blood, and mentally reviewed his symptoms. Euphoria and shortness of breath – the deceptive symptoms of both love and death – next he'd be collapsing on the floor.

Max disentangled herself from him quickly, and he couldn't look at her. She didn't say anything, didn't move away, but she watched him, watched for the Virus to do its job. When he finally found the courage to look at her again, there was a trail of tears running down her cheek, and Logan longed to reach up and wipe them away, but he knew she wouldn't let him. He should've apologized, but he couldn't. He wasn't sorry.

As time ticked slowly by, Logan found he wasn't collapsing, but almost... relaxing. The euphoria was still there (though it was quickly turning into regret), but his breathing was returning to normal. Max's look of fear was slowly changing into one he couldn't identify. She looked almost… hopeful.

"Max," he breathed, allowing the hope to resurface after so many empty months. Maybe he hadn't lost it after all.

"No," she whispered. "It's impossible. How could it…"

"Max… I'm fine," and he almost laughed.

She looked at him as if she was going to say more, but he wasn't going to listen. He grabbed her again, pushing his lips against hers desperately, happily, and the euphoria was back. She kissed him back almost violently, and then they were in motion. He pressed her against the window, his hands moving over her back, her stomach, through her hair, slowly exploring every inch of available skin. She moaned, sending a thrill through his body. Her hands kneaded his shoulders, pulling him closer, eliminating all the space between them. Their bodies merged together, and it no longer mattered where he ended and she began.

The kissed feverishly, losing themselves in the impossible beauty of it all. It was... tempestuous. It was fury, it was need, it was love, and it was desperation. It was a spiraling descent into what Logan could only feel would be the greatest joy of his life. He kissed her until they were both gasping for breath, and then his lips found her neck, and the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard escaped her lips in the form of a breathless moan of his name.

And then, it all came crashing down as Alec's voice interrupted their exhilarating reunion. "Whoa," he laughed, "on second thought, I think I'll go out tonight." He laughed again as he left, and Logan found himself thrust once more into the harsh light of reality.

Forcing himself to disregard the way Max's chest was lifting with every breath, Logan removed his hands from where they had slipped under her tank top, stroking the satiny feel of her bra. He met her eyes, and saw the love and desire mirrored within them. She dropped her gaze, and smiled shyly, her hands releasing their grip on his shirt and in his hair.

"Sorry," Logan whispered, exhaling slowly, and trying to gain control over his breathing and the frantic beating of his heart.

Max laughed quietly, still looking at the ground, "You didn't do it alone."

He didn't know what to say. They'd kissed. He was still alive. His thoughts were racing about in his mind at an unintelligible pace. His lips burned, his fingers ached, and he was aroused. He couldn't have put into words the thousands of emotions that had erupted inside him the moment their lips met. He just prayed she would look up, or speak, or do anything other than stand there with her head bowed, staring at her shoes. He was dying to know what she was thinking – no pun intended.

"How…?" Max asked haltingly, "How did this happen? Did the virus just… disappear?" She looked at him then, and he saw the confusion running through her incredibly expressive eyes. "It couldn't, right? That has to be…"

"Incredibly unlikely," Logan finished for her. He shrugged, and it was his turn to look away, unable to look at her and not touch her. "I don't know. Have you… been to the hospital lately?"

"No," she answered quietly. "I've been fine. I mean, there's always the seizures, and the other… less fantastic aspects of my being, but other than that…"

"You still have seizures?" Logan asked suddenly. She hadn't mentioned the seizures since she'd returned from Manticore. He'd just assumed that they had fixed whatever the problem was, but he was wrong. She'd been suffering, and she hadn't told him. The knowledge stung him in a way he wouldn't have expected.

"Yeah," Max admitted. "Manticore took the implant out, and they stopped for a while, but about a year ago they started up again. I don't have them very often though; it's not a big deal."

"You get your Tryptophan alright? Do you need any more?"

"Relax," Max smiled. "I'm good."

She moved closer and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. He exhaled slowly, capturing her hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips. Her smile turned shy, but she didn't look away. Logan felt a thrill as he took advantage of the moment to study her eyes. They were fascinating, really, deep and dark and emotional. Looking into those eyes had a way of stealing his breath, his thoughts, and his sanity. She seemed to be studying him just as intently, and a blanket of beautiful silence seemed to descend slowly over them, sheltering them from the rest of the world.

"What now?" Max asked him, her eyes searching for answers. Logan clasped her hand tightly and dropped his eyes to the ground. He knew what he had to do. He didn't want to do it, but he didn't have much of a choice. He laughed quietly, not unaware of how absurd everything seemed, but then his eyes met hers again, and he meant the next words he spoke.

"Max, I… it's… been a long time, but…" he swallowed thickly, "I can wait. We don't have to rush anything…" Max cut him off then by wrapping her arms around his neck, and pressing her lips to his. He pressed back firmly, slowly allowing his hands to travel around her waist, his fingers burning as they massaged the skin between the hem of her tank top and jeans.

As he felt her open her mouth to him, Logan forgot about waiting. He forgot about doing what was "right." This was right. Kissing Max was right. Holding Max was right. He knew, because he could feel it; he could feel it in his gut. He just _knew_. All thought began to fade as their mouths danced and their hands wandered. Then her lips left his and she was whispering into his ear.

"I don't want to wait any longer." It was desperate, breathless, and the reaction it caused in Logan was indescribable. He shivered and pulled her closer, giving up completely to the feeling of having her in his arms. They began to move, this time Max leading, and Logan knew they were heading toward the bedroom. He pulled away, one last time, to look into her eyes, to make sure she was sure. She seemed to read the question in his eyes, because she nodded confidently. It was all Logan needed. He dove into her lips again, ready to embrace what was about to happen.

* * *

**A/N:** What happened to the big V? Damned if I know. Damned if I care. The sum of what I know about science is very small, as it has never been my forte. Plus, a stupid plot device deserves whatever it gets, as far as I'm concerned, and, today, that means it gets about a minute of screen time so that we (that's the Royal "we," in case you were wondering) can (sort of) explain it away. Cheers! 


	8. Interlude

**A/N:** You can turn off the Foo Fighters now, though I'd be happy to provide a detailed soundtrack list.

**Disclaimer: **Any resemblance between the characters to any persons who actually exist is purely coincidental - wait, wrong disclaimer - right, nothing belongs to me.

* * *

Chapter 8: Interlude

"It was a dumb move," she scolded, whispering in the darkness, but he could feel her smiling against his shoulder.

"Well, it's not like I meant to do it. It's not like a planned it," he tried to defend himself, but felt silly doing so. After all, if he hadn't kissed her, they'd still believe the virus was a factor. He probably would have left, and they'd both be miserable. Now the virus was no longer in the picture, and he wouldn't have apologized for all the world.

"Right," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "you tripped."

"And landed with my hands under your top," he added with a short laugh. She giggled, and he moved farther down into the pillows, carefully tipping her head up so he could look at her. She was smiling, and she didn't look away when their eyes met. It was amazing. He still couldn't believe that the night was actually happening. It was too similar to all of the dreams that had haunted him for so many endless months. How many times had he awoken in the middle of the night confused because he'd dreamed of her sleeping beside him?

They were tangled in the sheets, and she was running her foot lazily up and down his leg. It was, quite possibly, the most awe-inspiring thing she'd ever done. He'd seen this woman jump out a window and land, on her feet, several floors below, without a scratch on her. She'd jumped off a roof to save his life. She'd come back from the dead. Yet, somehow, the simple _feeling_ of her bare legs entwined with his was… too incredible for words. Suddenly, he had everything he wanted. A wave of reverence washed over him as he realized that this was, in all likelihood, the best moment of his life… so far.

"I missed you," Max whispered.

Logan inhaled deeply, unable to answer for a moment. He pulled her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Sorry I was such an asshole," he finally replied, unable to even voice the extent to which he'd missed her. "I didn't mean to push you away."

"I know. Sorry I ran off to Canada." She said it almost absently, as if she was too enraptured by the present to give any consideration to the past (or maybe Logan was merely projecting). He began to weave his fingers through her hair, and she moaned slightly – a relaxed, comfortable sigh of contentment. Beautiful. She was so beautiful.

Logan allowed himself a luxurious stretch while Max moved closer, her fingers splaying over his chest. God, he felt so relaxed. He never wanted to leave that bed as long as he lived. He trailed his fingers lazily along the curve of her hip, intoxicated by the odd mixture of dreamy languor and arousal that filled him. Max shivered, and he felt it echo through his body. Their eyes met.

"Tired?" Max asked quietly, moving so that her lips hovered merely a breath above his own.

"Not at all," he smiled in reply, closing the distance eagerly.

* * *

**A/N: **TBC... some answers in the next chapter, I think. This was just fluff, because I felt some fluff was needed. 


	9. Waking Up is Hard to Do

Chapter 9: Waking Up is Hard to Do

Logan had never been particularly good at waking up. He tended towards groggy in the mornings, unable to orient himself for those first few moments after consciousness first pulled him from the murky depths. More often than not, his dreams were too realistic, leaving him confused, and, more often than he would readily admit, heartbroken. He dreamed of Max quite a bit; he dreamed of her in his arms almost every night. It was something Logan had long ago given up all hope of ever experiencing, and yet something he ached for every night and every morning of his life.

Naturally, it wasn't waking up in a strange bed that confused him when first his bleary, tired eyes opened to the sunshine that was filtering into the spotless white bedroom. What startled him was the pair of dark brown eyes looking into his own, and the pair of smooth, bare legs entwined with his beneath the sheets. A shudder ran through him as memories of the night before slowly began to filter back into consciousness, followed by a unique tingle of joy. He brought his hand up to cup her face, and she smiled softly.

"Morning," she whispered, biting her lip almost imperceptibly.

Somehow he managed to find his voice, "Good morning, Max."

"You want some coffee? I made some a little while ago." She seemed nervous, but all he could think about the fact that she was in his arms.

He smiled, "Would that entail you leaving the bed?" Her smile grew, and she nodded flirtatiously (if it is, in fact, possible for a nod to be flirtatious). Of course it would, unless she had a servant stowed away somewhere that he'd failed to notice before. "Then, thank you, but, no," he replied, pulling her closer. Her head found the space between his head and his shoulder, and she splayed her hand over his chest, drawing little nonsense patterns there with the tips of her fingers.

How long they stayed like that, Logan couldn't have said. He found himself oddly hypnotized by the openness of Max's expression, and by the rhythm of her fingers tapping, as they were, so very near to his heart. He wasn't sure if time slowed down or sped up, but it seemed distorted somehow, as if they could control it. So mesmerized was he that, when the familiar, shrill ringing began, he barely blinked. Max, however, pulled away, albeit slowly, and, frowning, climbed out of bed to search through her clothes. It was then that Logan recognized the sound as Max's cell phone, which was somewhere among the piles of sartorial debris.

"Yeah?" she greeted when she flipped open the phone, and it was hardly the sweet, perky tone she'd answered with the evening before. Realizing the magical moment was over, Logan began fumbling around, searching for his glasses. He found them on the floor next to the nightstand – at least he'd tried to put them somewhere he would find them – and quickly donning them, he clearly saw Max's horrified expression as she stood at the other end of the room. Her shoulders slumped, and she held her free arm across her stomach as the voice coming through became so loud that Logan could almost hear what he was saying, and Max had to pull the phone away from her ear.

When the voice finally stopped, Max took a deep breath, and began giving instructions like she always did – like a woman accustomed to being obeyed. From just the look on her face, Logan knew that, whatever it was, the news was not good. He sat up and watched her carefully. When she flipped the phone shut with barely a "bye," and turned to look at him, he knew she needed his help.

"What's up?" he asked, all thoughts of a lazy afternoon in bed vanished.

"That was Will. He thinks his father just killed someone."

* * *

**A/N:** I know I said that there would be answers in this chapter, but I needed a segue, so instead I give you fluff. Answers next, though, I promise. TBC... 


	10. How it Came to This

Chapter 10: How it Came to This

"I was looking for some quick cash. I figured a ski resort would be as good a place as any to lift some thick wallets. Rent was due, but there weren't enough paychecks, you know? Turn here."

Logan nodded, listening intently as Max alternated between giving him directions and telling him her story. She'd insisted they take his car, and he'd agreed, because the Mercedes was bound to draw unwanted attention. Apparently, where they were going, they needed to be as inconspicuous as possible, which, as was generally the case, didn't bother Logan at all. As Max continued, he tried to distance himself emotionally from the story, but was finding it rather difficult.

"I walked into the bar about two minutes before he bought a round for the house, so I knew he was loaded. I caught his attention, we flirted, and before I could jack his wallet, he was asking me to dinner."

"Is that how you meet all your friends?" Logan asked. He couldn't help it. He was amused by the coincidence, and her casual retelling, despite the seriousness of the situation. Glancing over, he saw a small smile play about her lips, and he felt a weird sense of accomplishment.

"Anyway," she said sternly, "turns out he doesn't carry a wallet. Turn right, and then turn left as soon as you can. He always carries a credit card, his ID, three fives, five ones, and two twenties in a weird little case in his pocket. Obviously not worth lifting."

"Obviously," Logan smirked.

"The necklace he gave me on the third date, however, I was able to fence for a pretty penny." She sighed heavily, "After that, he didn't really give me anything for awhile, but… I guess I kept hoping he would." Her voice grew quiet. "It was easier for me to let him give me things. I didn't want to give the others the idea that stealing is the best way to survive. Someday, someone would figure out that the transgenic were thieves, and that wouldn't really be good for public opinion..." The car was suddenly filled with an uncomfortable silence. He risked another glance in her direction and found that an almost haunted look graced her features, and she was tapping the door handle impatiently.

"And?" he prompted. She stared at him, as if she couldn't believe he wanted to hear the rest of the story. In truth, part of him really, really didn't want to. He didn't enjoy hearing about how another man had wooed the woman he loved, but he knew there was more to the story, and he knew that it was important to whatever was going to happen in the next few hours.

"Well, one day he got really drunk. I'm talking totally shitfaced. He'd had some kind of argument with his dad, and he kept rambling on and on about how his dad is the antichrist. When he started talking about the terrorist cells, I remembered what you'd told me."

Her story trailing off, she pointed to a large gray building on the corner they were approaching, explaining that it was a parking garage, and instructing him to park in it. She didn't say another word until they'd entered the building, ascended three floors, and Logan had parked the Aztek. Then, he turned off the car and turned to face her.

"And?"

"So, when he recovered from his massive hangover, I explained that I was one of Eyes Only's Canadian field liaisons." She looked away and bit her lip. "Sorry."

His laugh seemed to annoy her, because she turned back and looked him straight in the eye. Her expression was not an amused one. Logan could only shrug and swallow his laugh. It just seemed funny. "Canadian field liaison" was not a position he'd ever even bothered recruiting for, though, he had to admit, he did have a few contacts that might have fit that description. Nevertheless, he quickly apologized, and she continued with her story, which was, thankfully, drawing to a close.

"He spilled his guts then. I mean, he just told me everything. Things about his father, things about his own job at the company that he couldn't be sure about, but he found highly suspicious. Did you know, his uncle 'disappeared' oh-so-mysteriously?" Logan nodded. "Did you know that Will was the last person to see him, and that it was in his father's study at their house?"

"That I didn't know," Logan admitted, completely intrigued. Where had this kid been three years ago when he'd been looking into the case?

"Anyway" Max continued, though her voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, and she averted her eyes, choosing instead to look out the window at the parking garage. "He was really grateful when I told him I could help put his dad in jail. The next night, he asked me marry him."

"Oh." It hurt. Logan had to admit that it hurt. Thinking it might happen some time in the future was a lot different than hearing it had already happened. It didn't seem right, either. Will Patterson found out that his girlfriend was an Eyes Only source, and the next day he wanted to marry her? Did he think that he was in danger, and he was hoping Max could keep him safe?

"I told him that it was too soon. I'd only known him for a month. So he invited me to move back to San Francisco with him. It was a good idea, really. We were closer to company headquarters, so he was able to get the evidence I gave you, and I was able to get back to my less-than-legal activities without having to worry about what kind of role model I'm being. I send the money back to Canada with Alec, and so far the others have been fine without me." Her voice was tinged with something that Logan knew, but still couldn't quite place. It sounded like regret, but it also sounded like she missed her family. He felt a rush of protectiveness for her, and had to stop himself from reaching over to kiss her. It just wasn't the right time.

"And now Will thinks his father killed someone else?"

"Yep, and that's why you're coming with me."

"Yeah, cause it won't be awkward at all," Logan suddenly snipped lightly, suddenly aware of the absurdity of this strange love triangle. Still, he had to trust Max to sort it out accordingly.

"Let's go," was all she said in reply, and together they exited the car, while Max explained her relatively simple plan. It seemed like a decent one to Logan. He'd certainly heard worse plans escape her lips.

* * *

TBC...


	11. Awkward

Chapter Eleven: Awkward

The first thing William Lucas-Patterson III did when Max and Logan entered the shadowy, and, thankfully, bustling coffeehouse was rush forward to wrap Max in his arms. The second thing was give her a strange look when she deftly avoided his lips, which had hurriedly attempted to plant themselves upon hers. The third thing was to step back defensively when he recognized Logan behind her.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice hitching slightly with what sounded to Logan like genuine fear. "Grazia, what's he doing here?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you," Max replied coolly. The edge in her voice seemed to make him nervous, as he looked her over suspiciously. She'd changed since the last time he'd seen her, and he knew it. Logan could see it in his eyes. The Max whom Logan had fallen in love with was back, and the Grazia that Will adored was completely forgotten. It gave Logan an almost giddy feeling, but it obviously, and quite reasonably, seemed to cause the opposite reaction from the young Patterson heir.

"Sit down," Logan echoed, attempting to sound at least a little friendlier. "We'll explain."

* * *

Settled deep into the darkest corner of the coffeehouse, the three sat in awkward silence. For his part, Logan wasn't sure where to even begin. He didn't trust this kid… at all, really, so he wasn't going to give up his identity. He knew Max would never do that, especially without consulting him first. So, they continued to stare at each other while the other patrons around them continued to buzz merrily. 

Finally, Max reached across the small table and took one of Will's hands. He jumped slightly, but then seemed to relax immensely. Once again, Logan tried to disengage his emotions from the situation, but, as usual, he was finding it a bit difficult. Will was gazing at Max like she was made completely of diamonds and rubies, and the adoration caused another surge of jealousy within Logan. He knew that it was the wrong emotion for the moment. If anything, he should feel embarrassed, maybe even a little ashamed. After all, he _had_ just slept with the woman who was still, technically, Will's girlfriend. Even if he did have what he considered to be a greater, better, stronger claim to her, he knew that the line of right and wrong had blurred a bit overnight. Of course, that didn't mean he wouldn't do it again in a heartbeat. Hell, he was planning on doing it again that night, providing everything went according to plan.

"Will," Max said quietly, taking a deep breath, "I know that the other night at the ball you thought that I was meeting Logan for the first time, but I've actually known him for more than two years." A look of panic that Logan couldn't help thinking wasn't inappropriate for the situation crossed Will's features for a moment. He looked like a scared little kid. Poor guy's dad was a murderer and his girlfriend was cheating on him. It wasn't a good day for William Lucas-Patterson III.

"We used to work together," Logan decided to chip in, "For Eyes Only." Those were the magic words. Will nodded, but he still didn't say anything. Instead, he stared at his hands, the nails of which were jagged and stained with red. Will, apparently, was a nervous nail biter.

"You can trust him," Max added. "Tell us what happened."

"I went over to my Dad's early this morning," Will explained haltingly. "I know all the passcodes to get in, and I guess he didn't hear me drive up. I mean, he would have stopped if he heard me, right?" They nodded. A single tear dropped from each of Will's glassy eyes, "I heard him fighting with someone. I thought, I don't know, it was weird that someone would be over so early in the morning. So I followed the voices into the garden. My father and this guy – I don't know who he was – they were fighting, and then my Dad grabbed him, and shoved his head into the fountain, under the water. The guy fought it, there was water splashing everywhere, but my Dad just held him down, and then… and then the guy stopped moving." He looked as if he was about to vomit. Logan shivered. He remembered that feeling. That moment when you first realize that, yes, _you really did see someone die_, is one of the worst experiences a person could have. Realizing _you_ killed someone is undeniably worse, but, nevertheless… he couldn't help the twinge of sympathy.

"Why did you go over there?" Max asked cautiously.

"He invited me for breakfast," Will shrugged. "I thought I'd go early and get a few laps in the pool to work out a kink in my shoulder."

"Wait, he invited you for breakfast?" Logan asked quickly, exchanging a quick glance with Max.

"Yeah…"

"Did he hear you leave?"

"I don't know…"

"Will," Max asked sharply, "how long ago were you supposed to be at breakfast?"

"A couple of hours," Will answered, and it looked as if the realization of what he'd done was dawning on him as it had on Logan and Max.

"Has he tried to call you?" Max asked.

"Yes…" Will answered weakly.

"Shit," Logan groaned.

"He knows I saw him, doesn't he?" Will asked, and the way the fear was growing in his eyes and his expression was painful to watch.

"He probably suspects it," Logan replied carefully. He met Max's gaze again, and he recognized the determined set of her countenance. She was already rethinking her plan.

"Will," she said quietly, squeezing his hand, trying her best to convey 'reassuring' without losing the authoritative tone that assured Will would do as she said. "Will, is there any chance that your father would be willing to hurt you?"

"I'm… I'm an only child," he stuttered. Right, because his mother had been the first to 'disappear.'

"Good," Logan replied calmly. They had to keep this guy calm. He looked to be on the verge of a breakdown, and Logan didn't think that the guy collapsing in a fit of hysteria would be very conducive to their intended inconspicuousness. "Now, you need to call him…" he stopped when Will shrank back, terrified. Logan continued, his voice firmer, "You need to call him and tell him you're sorry. You're running late. You'll have to reschedule. Tell him…" he thought for a moment, "Tell him Grazia forgot to set the alarm. Can you do that?"

Will gulped. He really was terrified, but he nodded. "I call him, and tell him Grazia forgot to set the alarm… but what about…"

"Don't worry about it," Max cut him off. "Just call. You need to do it now."

Will looked at Max, really looked at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. She nodded and handed him her phone. A good move, considering Will's probably had GPS, or worse, a bug. The company wasn't called Patterson Electronics for nothing. Taking one last deep breath, Will flipped open the phone and dialed his father's number.

* * *

TBC... 

**A/N:** Yes, I do, actually, write this fast. However, I've had the last several days off from work, so I've had time to really sit down and think out where I'm actually going with this story. Sadly, tonight, I must return to work, and classes start in another week or so, so I'm trying to finish before then. I honestly didn't think it would end up being this long. Thank you to everyone who's sticking this out with me. Your thoughts and suggestions are greatly appreciated.


	12. Instant Alibi

**Disclaimer: **Hey, you know what? William Lucas-Patterson III is mine. I invented him. His father, as well, is my invention. Melissa Brown-Littleton too. Everything else I am merely borrowing. I promise to return them in perfect shape - tags still on.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Instant Alibi

Will's face was no longer the face of a terrified boy. In fact, as he waited for his father to answer the phone, his countenance was calm, even deceptively peaceful. However, the anxious beating of his fingers against the arm of his chair belied that tranquility. The nervous energy running through the man was almost visible. Logan almost could have believed he saw the ripples of terror running through the man's limbs.

"Dad! Hey! It's me!" Will gasped out. Max placed her hand gently on his knee, and it seemed to give him strength. For once, Logan didn't begrudge him this touch. If they were going to keep the kid alive, they were going to have to lend him their strength. If that meant that Max was going to have to play the part of the loving girlfriend for a little while longer, well… he supposed he could deal with that.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I missed breakfast. You did? Oh… it must be on vibrate. Yeah. Oh, well," he laughed nervously, "Grazia forgot to set the alarm."

Squeezing Will's knee lightly, Max laughed that light, sparkling, society laugh that was all Grazia's. "Tattletale," she called into the phone. It was a nice touch – an instant alibi. Logan couldn't help smiling a little bit. He wished he'd thought of it.

"Okay," Will continued, and his hand was shaking. "Rain check? Sounds great. Tomorrow?" he glanced at Max.

"Babe, you promised to make me breakfast tomorrow," Max whined prettily.

"Yeah, I did," Will exhaled, speaking quite a bit faster than was usual. God, he wasn't going to last much longer. Logan watched the younger man's trembling hands, and he knew that they had to get him off the phone.

Reaching out, he lightly tapped Max on the shoulder. When she looked up, he showed her his badly made ceramic mug, currently drained of coffee, and gestured to the tile floor. She understood immediately. With a small nod of approval, she turned back to Will and silently ordered him to get off the phone. Will nodded, the fear returning to his eyes as he listened to his father on the other end of the conversation. Logan stood, held the ceramic mug above his head, and let it drop. The shattering echoed throughout the coffeehouse, and the room fell deathly silent.

"Oh no!" Max's whined again, pulling away somewhat. She gestured for Will to hurry up.

"Uh… Dad… I've got to go. I think Grazia broke something. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

Poor kid. His eyes were full of tears when he finally flipped the phone closed. Silently, Max handed him her own half-empty mug, and, emotionally exhausted, he drank all of its contents in desperate series of gulps. Once it was empty, Max ruffled his hair gently. It was a reassuring gesture, almost maternal. Something about it struck Logan as familiar. Once more, he felt the slight tingling awareness of déjà vu. He had seen Max do it before, he knew, but he couldn't quite place where or when... Joshua. Yes, he had seen her use it to calm down Joshua when they were still in Seattle. She'd always had a strangely maternal relationship with Joshua. How odd that she was using it now to calm her boyfriend.

"Now we've got to go," Max said, rising to her feet.

"We can't stay here?" Will asked wearily.

"Nope."

A timid waitress was standing nearby, holding a broom and a dustpan in her hand. She was staring at them, as were the rest of the patrons in the coffee shop. However, while the other customers were at least attempting to hide their stares, the waitress was openly gawking. Suddenly, Logan felt rather sheepish. He should have known that a grown man purposefully breaking his coffee cup for, apparently, no logical reason would draw unwanted attention. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Quickly, as Max pulled Will out of the building, Logan pulled out his wallet and left a twenty dollar tip. It would more than cover the broken mug. With any luck, the scene had not been so strange as to make it the most interesting thing to happen that day in the lives of those who had witnessed it. Logan hated to be the object of interest to wagging tongues, especially when someone's life was in danger.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Will asked as they hurried up the dark stairs of the parking garage. Logan ignored him, spurred on by some unidentifiable feeling of peril. He didn't feel safe, and he didn't feel that Max, or their charge, was safe. They'd brought too much attention to themselves. He wanted only to leave, and to do it as quickly and quietly as possible. Max, for her part, seemed just as ready to depart, and just as willing to ignore Will's questions. She walked behind Will, resting one hand on his back, while she checked over her shoulder every few seconds. She was looking for danger. She was ready to fight if she needed to. 

"Where are we going?" he asked again, only his voice was strangled with nervousness.

"To the car," Logan answered, surprised by the strain of impatience he recognized in his own voice.

"No! It's LoJacked!" Will spat, stopping so suddenly that Max had to sidestep him to avoid tripping.

"Not your car," Max sighed, and Logan could tell she, too, was growing tired of Will's nerves.

"I know, the Mercedes… my Dad…"

Before he could even finish, Max laughed. She actually laughed. Logan failed to see the humor in the situation, but Max, evidently, thought it was the funniest thing she'd heard all week. To the casual, or even the trained observer, there didn't appear to be anything remotely amusing about the situation, and yet, Logan found himself smiling. He couldn't help it. Her laughter was infectious – not that light, airy laugh she'd adopted for society, but her mocking, happy, amused, half-laugh/half-giggle that he had become addicted to, but heard so little – he loved it. To Logan, she was irresistible when she laughed. Will, on the other hand, looked like he'd seen a ghost. The color drained from his face.

"What are you laughing about?" he hissed.

"Just the fact that your Dad's smarter than I thought he was," Max replied calmly as she started walking again. Logan followed suit, trying to hide his own smile, and fighting the urge to grab her hand and lace their fingers together. He could almost see the little smile she would give him if he did. Despite the danger, despite the whiny witness, despite all the circumstances, it was nice to work with her again. Actually, it was nice to do anything with her again. Not for the first time, he wondered how he hadn't fallen into madness without her.

Will, however, continued to stand in the stairwell, looking completely stunned. "How is that funny?" he practically screamed. In a second, Max, with her unbelievable speed, was at his side again, clapping her hand over his mouth. She whispered something into his ear that Logan couldn't hear, but he could only assume it was somewhere along the line of "shut up, do want to get us all killed?"

"Listen," she explained, a bit louder, throwing a loaded glance in Logan's direction, "I only meant that it was about time someone was suspicious of me. I mean, really, Will…"

"Grazia…" His tone was quiet, but imploring. He was scared. He was confused. He wanted to know that everything was going to be okay.

"Listen…" she bit her lip, and when she spoke again her voice was gentle, reassuring. "I'll explain everything later, okay? I promise. Let's just make sure you're safe first."

Nothing more was said as they walked quickly to the Aztek, though Logan wanted to thank Max for her foresight in insisting that they bring his car. He wanted to ask her if she knew that her car could be tracked. She had probably suspected it. She didn't seem very surprised by the information. If the news had caught her off guard, he doubted it would have amused her as much as it had.

"Okay," Logan asked as they climbed into the car. "What next?"

"Next?" Max smiled sweetly. "Next, I call Alec."

"Who?" Will asked from the backseat.

"Matthew," Max amended as she unceremoniously reached into Logan's jacket pocket for his phone. He couldn't help smiling at the action, nor could he deny the little flutter of happiness at the reminder of their situation. He could touch her all he wanted now. He only had to wait until Will was safely out of the way.

Quickly dialing a number, Max turned back to Will and explained that from that moment on, anything his father had purchased, or even been alone with, was to be considered as traceable, and, therefore, couldn't be used. In the rearview mirror, Logan watched Will's face fall. Maybe he wasn't yet familiar with the "your father's the enemy" talk coming from anyone other than himself, but he would be before the day was over.

* * *

**A/N: **The shit hits the fan in chapter thirteen, just so you know. TBC... 


	13. Surveillance

**A/N:** And things only get worse for our intrepid heroes.

* * *

Chapter 13: Surveillance

The hotel room that Melissa Brown-Littleton had rented on Logan's behalf was a large one. It was beautiful and spacious. It was just the sort of room that would have been perfect for a person suffering from claustrophobia. In any other situation, four, maybe five people could have spent an ample amount of time in the room without any discomfort.The afternoon that Max and Logan escorted the weary Patterson heir into the room, however, it shrunk considerably in size.

For one thing, Max and Logan were both nervous pacers. At first, their constant bumping into each other was amusing, but after ten minutes they were both annoyed. Max snapped at him to watch himself. Biting back his own impolite retort, Logan only frowned. He didn't like the air in the room. It was too tense. He hated waiting, but that was all that there was to do. They were waiting for Alec. They were waiting for Logan's contact at San Francisco police department to return Logan's call. Will, meanwhile, could only sit and stare out the window, waiting for his life to make sense once again.

* * *

Logan sighed heavily as he listened carefully to the detective on the other end of the line. Detective Northam was an invaluable Eyes Only source that he had known for years. He'd been the first person to bring the shady nature of the Patterson company's dealings to Logan's attention, and over the years he'd provided more information that had led to many successful Eyes Only hacks. He was a good man, and Logan trusted him. Unfortunately, on this occasion, he couldn't tell Logan anything he didn't already know. 

"Are you sure you didn't know the man?" Logan asked over his shoulder. Will, who was reclining on the bed, obviously inspecting the intricate mural on the ceiling, only shook his head. "Could you describe him to a police sketch artist?"

"The police!" Will erupted. "You can't call the cops! They're all corrupt."

"All but one," Logan tried to smile, but found it probably looked more like a grimace. He hoped Detective Northam hadn't heard the little outburst.

"He might be able to," Logan said into the phone. Detective Northam laughed, and Logan knew that he had, in fact, heard Will.

They talked for another few minutes. The detective offered to send a sketch artist to wherever they were staying, but Logan declined. Hopefully, within a few hours, a missing persons report would be filed, but, until that happened, Will was in no shape to be talking to the police. He was scared as hell, and the only person he trusted was his beloved "Grazia."

A cautious knock at the door echoed through the hotel room. Quickly, Logan thanked his informant for the information, and flipped the phone shut. He watched as Max slinked toward the door. She situated herself into a maneuverable position, nodding to Logan as she did so. Logan understood. He reached into his overnight bag to feel the cool metal of his handgun, before calling out for the knocker to identify himself.

"Turndown service!" A far-too-amused falsetto voice rang out. Of course… Alec.

Rolling her eyes, Max quickly unbolted the door. Alec sauntered into the room as only he could, ignoring Max's observation that 2:00 in the afternoon was a little early for turndown. He then took one look at pale-faced Will, and began chuckling under his breath. Logan released his hold on his gun, and met Alec's entertained eyes.

"Matthew, I presume?" he asked.

"de Mayo," Alec added. He stepped forward and shook Logan's hand. "Grazia's cousin."

"I can see the family resemblance," Logan deadpanned.

"It's not like I said he was my brother," Max protested, a small smile on her lips as she watched the "introduction."

"Yeah, 'cause that would be weird," Alec quipped. Max's response was that of an eye-roll and a glare in Alec's general direction. Naturally, Alec ignored her. Watching them reminded Logan of his cousins when they were all younger. It embarrassed him to think that he'd once thought of Alec as a rival. Strangely, he'd never considered himself to be a particularly jealous man until Max came along, and suddenly the one thing he wanted more than anything was beyond his reach.

As Alec clicked his tongue and set his backpack on the table, Logan was brought back to the situation at hand. The occupants of the room all grew quiet as Alec began pulling out and exhibiting the contents of his bag. Unfortunately, it was just as they had suspected. One look at Max proved that she also recognized the items Alec was setting down. It was surveillance equipment – the best money could buy – microphones, tiny cameras, routing antennas…. the works, basically.

Max exhaled slowly as she watched. Logan stopped inspecting the equipment and studied her reaction. She'd crossed her arms across her stomach, and she was chewing her lip. She shook her head slowly, as if she just couldn't believe what she was seeing. There was a knowing, and yet somehow haunted, look in her eyes. It was almost as if she were withdrawing into herself, staying within her own protective shell. He saw the light in her eyes dim, and he saw the tiny shiver that passed through her.

"Were you careful?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I had some suspicions. Patterson Electronics, you know, so I was careful about what I said, but…" she stared hard at the table full of equipment. "Where did you find it?"

Alec, to his credit, no longer looked so amused. He shrugged, pointing to each object as he explained in a calm, businesslike manner, "Let's see two mikes in the kitchen, but no camera. A mike and a camera in the front hall – monitoring who came and who went, I suppose. I found three mikes and three cameras in the living room. Nothing in the bathrooms, cause, you know, that would be gross. Nothing in the guest bedroom – lucky me – and…" he stopped, and he just couldn't help himself. He laughed, "Four of what appear to be high-def cameras, all with night capability and mikes, in the bedroom." He looked quite pointedly at Logan, a little smirk on his lips, "Were _you_ careful?"

Revulsion, embarrassment, and anger joined the bile rising in Logan's throat. That _asshole_ had been spying on Max! He'd watched her in bed! Fucking pervert! Worse still was the fact that this went beyond anything a sane man would do if he suspected his son's girlfriend was just a gold-digger. This went so far beyond it that, in an instant, Logan no longer considered Will to be the one who needed protecting. How long had the shithead been spying on Max? How many conversations between Max and Alec did he have on tape, hidden away somewhere to be used… for what? Evidence? How many times had Alec called her Max instead of Grazia on those tapes? How many times had they mentioned Joshua? Eyes Only? Manticore?

"Shit," Max whispered. She was blushing, her flaming cheeks matching the red of her tank top, but there was so much more than embarrassment in her eyes. She looked... scared, terrified, edgy. She looked as if she was ready to run at a moment's notice. She'd suspected she was being watched, certainly, but probably nothing on that scale. She glanced at Will, who was looking at her, at Alec, at Logan, from one to the other rapidly, searching for answers that not one of them could give.

"What is going on?" Will asked firmly, his eyes fixed on Max. She could only shrug.

"There's more," Alec added, and all merriment left his voice. He nodded to Max, "You were right. About five minutes after I left, two guys in black went in and trashed the place."

"Meaning that someone was probably watching twenty-four hours a day," Logan muttered. "His dad's not going to be happy that all the equipment's gone."

"Logan…" Max whispered. He caught her eye. He saw then that there were other emotions colliding within her, boiling together as they were in him. The look in her eyes wasn't so much frightened as it was... apologetic.

"We'll figure it out," he tried to assure her. She looked as if she was going to say something else, but he cut her off. "Max, we don't know what he was after. We'll figure it out as we go." She didn't look convinced, but it was the best he could do. It probably didn't help that he didn't feel at all convinced himself.

"_Max_?" Will whispered, staring at Max with a mixture of fear and pain. Oh, crap.

* * *

**A/N:** It's all a bit more complicated than I ever thought it would be. TBC... 


	14. Love and Guilt

**A/N:** Hooray! I signed up for my classes today. I'm a comparative literature major, in case you were wondering (which you probably weren't). Also - I know the cameras grossed you out, but, you know, the guy _is_ evil. Seriously, though, sorry if I offended anyone.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Love and Guilt

The slamming of the door ripped through the heavy silence of the hotel room, and the walls trembled in response. An innocent vase of flowers, despite having harmed no one during the length of its brief, unspectacular existence, fell to its ultimate demise from where it had been precariously perched on the dresser all morning. It shattered, and the remaining occupants of the hotel room ignored the noise just as they wished they could ignore their current situation.

It had been a brief and terrible conversation. He had turned to her, demanding an explanation, and so she gave him one. She told him her name was not Grazia de Mayo. Her name was Max. The de Mayo family was the ruling organized crime family in the province formally known as British Columbia (currently without an official name due to the election scandal of 2020). It was a name that could get anyone anywhere, and she had made it her own. He'd asked her then if she loved him. Calmly, gently, she replied that she did not, and the next instant William Lucas-Patterson III was storming out the door.

For the two bystanders, it had been an uncomfortable few minutes. Alec, uncharacteristically silent, had apparently noticed for the first time that he was wearing shoes, for he suddenly appeared to find them absolutely fascinating – so much so, that he couldn't take his eyes off them. Logan, on the other hand, had nowhere else to look. He watched the proceedings as any man would whose future depends on the words being said. She did not love Will, because she loved Logan. That much was clear, and while it sent a thrill through Logan so keen that he couldn't have spoken if he wanted to, it was obvious, and quite reasonably so, that Max was not quite as happy.

Even after Will's furious exit, Logan still could not take his eyes off of her. She moved to the window, standing with one hand placed calmly upon its cool surface. He could see her reflection in the glass, could see each shining tear as it dropped from her eyes. She would not turn around. She would not show her weakness. She would not show that which had been eating away at her for so long. He tried to move toward her, but her shoulders tensed, and he didn't take another step.

From across the room, Alec cleared his throat. "I think I'll just go and keep an eye on Will. Daddy dearest probably knows you're registered here, so we might want to think about moving on."

Max nodded, but she didn't turn. She kept her eyes locked on some point on the horizon, and it was almost as if pain was emanating from her. She ached and Logan ached right along with her. She tensed up again when Alec left the room, but, this time, Logan approached her anyway. He didn't try to touch her, afraid that it would only remind her of why she felt so guilty. He watched the city below them as it teemed with life, and he didn't try to talk. He merely stood beside her, offerering his silent support. If she wanted comfort, he was there. It was all he could offer. He waited. After all, he'd become an expert at waiting.

She appeared to be watching the street with interest. People-watching was a hobby of hers, he remembered. She liked to climb up as high as she could and smile down on the crowds below. It was her way of dealing with stress – removing herself from the situation and concentrating on others. She liked to think about the people she watched, about their problems, their lives, and how lucky they were to be "normal," even if they didn't realize it themselves. She liked to pretend she was one of them.

"Well, this isn't quite the weekend you had in mind," she finally whispered, her bitter little laugh belying the flippancy of her words.

It was all the invitation he needed. Slowly, he pulled her into his arms, waiting for her to pull away, but she didn't refuse the gesture of comfort. She hugged him tightly, inhaling deeply as she buried her face in her shoulder. Yes, this was where she belonged. He knew it, she knew it, and now even William Lucas-Patterson III knew it. Well, actually, Max had never mentioned Logan in the conversation, but Will would have to be an idiot not to suspect something. Hadn't everyone who'd ever seen the two of them together suspected it? They'd alluded to the attraction, the connection, long before Logan had even allowed himself to confront it.

"I'm a horrible person," Max muttered as she pulled away.

"No," Logan insisted, catching her arm before she could fully disconnect from him, and bringing her back to face him. She refused to meet his eyes, as she spoke, and the bitterness in her voice was heartbreaking. God, she was still thinking that way. She still thought she was some kind of monster. Did she see the word POISON written across her forehead when she looked into a mirror? He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. How could she not see what he saw? How could she not see what Alec, and Joshua, and Original Cindy saw when they looked at her?

"Well, either I cheated on you with him, or I cheated on him with you, so, either way, I'm not really coming out smelling like roses here," she practically spat.

"It's a little more complicated then that," Logan protested, but knew that his words fell on deaf ears. She was already moving on to her next point.

"I was sleeping with him because… because he had money, and I needed to get out of Canada, and I liked the attention…"

"And you needed to take care of your family," Logan added, ignoring her utter vehemence, and trying to talk to her rationally. "You did what you felt you had to do. You told me that yourself. I know, you couldn't tell him that, because that would have involved telling him more about your past than you're willing, but… he'll get over it. He's young and rich, and this is what happens to guys who are young and rich. Hell, I went through it once or twice. He'll probably go through it at least once more in his life. His friends could probably give him pointers. I could give him pointers. I mean, Max, I _married_ a woman who only wanted my money, which, speaking of horrible people…" he trailed off when Max rewarded him with a smile and a short, genuine laugh. Well, at least that had worked.

"Max…" he said calmly, "If you were a horrible person, you would have married him when he asked you to, and you would not have felt any remorse today." Gently, he cupped her face in his hand and tipped her face up so he could look into her eyes. Though the paths her tears had followed were still shiny, and somewhat pink, her eyes were dry, and she smiled up at him. Whatever he had been thinking in that moment, whatever comforting thing he would have said to her next, it was lost in a pleasant haze when Max reached up to him, bringing her lips up to his. She kissed him slowly, deeply, meaningfully, and when she pulled away, he could have sworn his heart stopped. She really was worth every minute of trouble.

"When this is over," she said quietly, her eyes falling to their clasped hands, and smiling almost shyly, "Think I can hitch a ride back up to Seattle with you?"

"I think that could be arranged," he smiled, ignoring the giddy feeling that momentarily clouded his senses.

"Okay," she breathed, her attitude instantly changing from sentimental to soldier, "grab your stuff and let's get out of here."

* * *

TBC... 


	15. The Events Leading Up

**A/N:** I'm afraid this is a bit of a segue chapter. The last line is important, but the rest is sort of... eh. Sorry, but it had to be done.

* * *

Chapter 15: The Events Leading Up 

As the night quickly approached, Logan found himself once more in his car, once more taking directions from Max, once more looking for a safe place that only she seemed to know how to locate. Alec and Will sat in the backseat, and Will, now more hostile witness than willing participant, was, for once, silent. He was sullenly silent, actually, which didn't bother Logan. William Lucas-Patterson III, for all of his good breeding and corporate training, had absolutely no idea how to behave in a crisis. He'd never even seen a crisis before. Now that his life was, quite possibly, in grave danger, he had absolutely no idea what to do.

Alec, for all appearances, was asleep, which also didn't bother Logan all that much. His amused reminders that whoever had been watching the surveillance feeds the night before had "quite a show" did nothing to help the situation. More than once, Logan found himself wondering if the cheeky transgenic would hit back if punched. More than once, he wondered if it would be worthwhile. He suspected it would be. At the very least, it would be incredibly therapeutic.

* * *

It was one of those numerous establishments that one can find at the edge of any major metropolis. It was a building somewhere between seedy and respectable, and, depending on how much you paid, you could get either kind of room. The motel consisted of two buildings of about twenty-five rooms each, and Logan had a feeling that the second building was reserved for the "pay-by-the-hour" crowd. He didn't know how Max had found this place, but he had a feeling she had a whole list of similar motels tucked away in her memory, just waiting for the day when she'd need them. Unfortunately, this was that day. 

As he approached the front office, Logan tried not to remember his penthouse in Seattle. He tried to tell himself that this was for Max's safety, that his own hotel room was compromised by the surveillance tapes. He tried to remind himself that he had, in fact, spent the night in far worse places, including in a junkyard (covered in monster spit). Sadly, nothing helped the revulsion in his stomach when he passed by the smelly drunk on the corner doing something to a cat for which Logan didn't even want an explanation.

"Hello, how can I help you, Sir?" the man at the front desk smiled. Well, at least the employees were clean and civil enough.

"Yes," Logan exhaled slowly. "I need two rooms."

The front desk clerk, whose aged nametag might have read "Pete," quoted him a price that was, thankfully, more than reasonable, and Logan, ever thankful for the extra set of IDs he'd thoughtfully stowed under the floormat of his car, was able to secure two rooms within a reasonable distance of each other under the name of Colin Randolph. Well, even if Alec didn't receive the punch in the face he so richly deserved, at least he would have the pleasure of playing roomate and babysitter to Will overnight. That, at least, was something. Of course, that meant that Logan and Max would have the second room all to themselves...

* * *

Max truly did not need sleep. If he had ever doubted it before, Logan knew the truth of it after spending two nights in bed with her. He was a light sleeper, unused to the presence of another person in the room, and, when Max crawled out of bed sometime after he dozed off, he felt it. Without a thought, he reached out, missing the warmth of her body. She'd laughed quietly, and obliged him by sliding back between the sheets. He held her as he drifted back to sleep, concentrating on how very soft her skin was beneath his fingers. When she rose for the second time, he didn't try to stop her. He was too tired, and he knew she would only grow restless if she had to lie in bed doing nothing for eight hours. He awoke a few more times that night only to see her sitting by the window, or scribbling on complimentary motel stationary, or digging through her overnight bag. He didn't mind. It was comforting to have her there, and it was easy enough to fall back asleep. 

Sadly, after the fourth or fifth time he woke, he stopped wondering what Max was doing. He was just too tired, and he knew that Max could take care of herself. At one point, he almost told her that she could turn on the TV if she wanted to, but he fell asleep before he could even mention it. He was just too groggy to remember how to talk.

When he heard the rustling in the room at 3:00 in the morning, he never thought to open his eyes, never thought to look for Max. He assumed it was her, and the sudden weight at the foot of the bed seemed to confirm his belief. He allowed the comfortable feeling of sleep to pull at him, lulling him away from the harsh reality of early morning. When he felt cool metal pressed against his temple, however, he was immediately awake.

* * *

TBC... 


	16. Scarface

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine, so bite me.

**A/N:** Okay, finally... here it is. I apologize that it took me a while to write this. I was very busy, and my muse disappeared for a while. Then, when my muse showed up again, in the form of Barber's "Adagio," she insisted that I write The Choice first (it's the perfect song for that story, trust me). I'm serious, I couldn't write anything else. Even after I finished it, I had a hard time with this chapter. Nevertheless, 16 is done, and I'm nearing the end, I can feel it, which is good, because I have another story in the works. Stick we me, chaps and chapesses, we're almost home.

* * *

Chapter 16: Scarface

Silence. Darkness. Gun. Silence. Darkness. Gun. Silence… no, not silence. Breathing. Not his. Calm, even, steady breathing. Breathing. His own breathing. Not calm… scared. The gun never moved, never wavered. Not even a flicker of light interrupted the oppressive darkness. The air was thick, heavy, too warm… stifling.

Logan tried to keep his body completely still. He tried to keep his breathing calm. He couldn't control the frenzied rhythm of his heart, or the moisture collecting under his palms, but he could control his breathing. He fought the urge to turn and confront his antagonist. No sudden moves, no sudden moves, no sudden moves… He reminded himself to stay calm. If he was supposed to dead, he'd be dead. Something else was going on.

Max. Where was Max? All intentions of staying calm and collected were forgotten in a flash when the memory caught up to him. _Max, on the ground, a bullet through her chest._ No. He forced the memory away. She was alright. She had to be, but where was she? She _was_ in the room, or at least she had been… One guy with a gun wasn't going to get past her. Where was she?

He lost all sense of time as he lay there. It was too much. He was trying to control his breathing, his body, and his thoughts. He was trying not to aggravate whomever it was that held the weapon to his head, but it was exhausting. Finally, he just couldn't stand it anymore.

"May I ask what you think you're doing?" he asked, his voice surprisingly firm and loud in the darkness.

The gun bearer started, and in that instant, Logan was sure he was going to die. The trigger would be pulled, and his life would be over in a flash. He'd be nothing more than bloody pulp at this distance. Then, to his complete surprise and ultimate exasperation, the man laughed. It was a man, that much was certain. His laugh was deep and harsh. A man who could laugh with a gun to another man's head was obviously not an amateur. So, now Logan knew two things about his assailant, three if he counted the fact that he obviously didn't want him dead just yet.

"I'm waiting for your girlfriend, Logan," the man replied. Shit. The guy knew his name. That was never, ever a good sign.

"Okay," Logan tried to reason, "Can we turn on a light or something. This sitting in the dark thing…"

"Nice try, but I don't think so."

Logan tried again, "You want to tell me _why_ we're waiting for my girlfriend?"

"The man wants to talk to her."

"Patterson."

"Yeah, that's the one. He says he wants to have a chat with her, and I've got to deliver."

So, this wasn't exactly what Logan had expected when he woke up, but, then again, it wasn't all bad. The man didn't have orders to kill Max. Patterson wanted her alive. At that moment, Logan didn't care that the gun was still pointed at him. He really just wanted to know what Patterson knew. Was this a "she screwed my kid, I want to talk to her" cement shoes deal, or was this a "let's see what this Manticore thing is before we kill her" deal? He didn't know, and he had a feeling that Pattersons' heat-packing lackey didn't either.

At the sound of a pretty, tinkling laugh outside the door, both men froze. Max was outside. It was her laugh, only… it wasn't. It was Grazia's laugh. Did she... could she know what was going on inside? Was it a signal? A warning? In the silence that followed, they heard the distinctive swipe-click of the keycard lock. The man beside Logan moved slightly, trying for, Logan could only assume, a better view of the door. He rustled about quickly, the gun moving from Logan's skin for only an instant, before it returned with a sharp jab. As the door slowly opened, allowing a small shaft of light from the streetlights outside, Logan saw that the man was holding another gun, and it was pointed at the door.

Then, in a flash the door was open, the lights were on, and Alec stood in the doorway with his own gun pointed at Logan's new friend. The two armed men stared each other down, calculating each other's chances and advantages. Finally, the man growled and dropped the gun aimed at the doorway, but he kept the one next to Logan's head. Logan hadn't thought it was possible, but the atmosphere in the room seemed to have actually become heavier.

"That one two," Alec ordered, but not until after taking what seemed to be an inordinate amount of time analyzing the situation. Patterson's man hesitated, so Alec took a few steps forward. He didn't wave his gun about, but kept it carefully trained on his target. He knew exactly what he was doing, and there was no questioning it.

"You know your orders aren't to kill him, so put the gun down," Max said quietly, appearing in the doorway. She nodded slightly to Logan, whose eyes were finally adjusting to the light in the room. He would have nodded back, but the gun made it difficult, so he chose not to try. At least the gun was trained on him. The man wouldn't dare take his aim from Logan in order to point it at Max.

"My orders are to take you with me, no matter what I have to do."

Max shrugged, "All you had to do was ask. That was the plan anyway."

"Oh…" The moment of confusion was all she needed. He relaxed his hand on the gun, hesitant, and, in an instant, Max had the gun in her hand, swiping it from his temporarily lax fingers, and bending his hand back with a good amount of force. The man howled with pain, but Max ignored him. With a look of disgust, she handed the offensive weapon to Alec, who still had his own weapon trained on the now defenseless intruder.

"Get up," Max ordered. Her demeanor was threatening, almost angry. Rather than face her wrath, the man did as he was told. At least he wasn't a total idiot. She gestured for him to walk toward Alec, and he again obeyed. Alec, much to Logan's satisfaction, smacked the guy's head into the doorframe, immediately knocking him unconscious.

It was only as his attacker sank to the ground that Logan allowed himself to relax. With a sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and let the moment sink in. He was okay. Max was okay. God, he was tired.

"Hey," Max said quietly as she sat down next to him on the bed. He sat up, allowing his cramping limbs to move for the first time. "You okay?" Her fingers rested just above his knee, and there was concern written all over her features.

"I'll grab some duct tape," Alec muttered, leaving the room.

Despite the unconscious thug on the floor, despite the fact that they were in the middle of something very tense and very dangerous, and despite the fact that Alec could return at any moment, Logan grabbed her and kissed her for all he was worth. The horror of those minutes when he'd thought something had happened to her, the stress of the last half-hour, the adrenaline running through his veins, they all need an outlet. He curled his fingers into her hair, pulling her closer, shivering when she moaned into his mouth. God, he wished they weren't in the middle of a mission…

"Break it up!" Alec announced as he entered the room. "We've got to get this guy tied up."

"Right," Max agreed, averting Logan's eyes as a deep blush crept into her cheeks. Unbelievable… Max was blushing. With another sigh, Logan watched as the two X5s bound and gagged the man, whose face Logan saw for the first time. He was younger than Logan expected, maybe twenty-seven. He also had a large, jagged scar running from his chin to his ear.

* * *

"What's your name?" Max asked, not unkindly. 

"What do you care?" the newly revived, and still rather groggy, thug asked. He was sitting on the bed, his hands taped behind him, and his feet tied to the leg of the bed frame. Alec had left to check on the slumbering Patterson heir, leaving Max and Logan to interrogate the interloper.

"I like to put a name with a face," Max smiled sweetly.

"Tough, babe." Logan winced, knowing full well that Max absolutely hated being called pet names, especially by the bad guys. He hid a smile as she glided forward and gave the cheeky jerk a hard smack over the head. He winced, and she gave him one of her dangerous smiles.

"What's your name?" she asked again, slower this time, as if addressing a child. The man remained silent, so Max shrugged. She moved across the room to where Logan was sitting at the small table by the window. He was watching the interrogation from behind, analyzing the guys posture, the tension in his shoulders. He was also watching every emotion that crossed Max's features. After more than two years, he could tell what was coming from each smile, each flash of her eyes.

"He says his name's Scarface," Max shrugged playfully, but there was an underlying tension in her action.

"Scarface," Logan addressed the man's back. "When does Patterson expect you back?"

"Daybreak."

Max reached over and pushed back Logan's sleeve. She glanced at the watch, and he followed her gaze. It was almost 4:30 in the morning. As if prompted by the reminder of the hour, Logan yawned. If only they had enough time for a nap… Max seemed to be able to read his mind, because she laughed slightly, and nudged him.

"You could stay here," she suggested. "Get some rest. It's not every day you wake up with a gun in your face."

"I'm not staying behind," he replied calmly. There was no way he was going to let Max go anywhere near that freak Patterson until they knew exactly what they were dealing with. All three were going in, and he wasn't going to rethink his decision. He had his gun, and his exo was in the trunk, folded under a blanket. With a little bit of luck they'd all be fine.

* * *

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Max and Logan lugged Scarface out of the hotel room. In the early morning air, their footsteps echoed around the hotel grounds. They moved quickly toward the car, hoping that the other guests were still asleep in their beds. Anyone who happened to look outside at that moment would have been surprised to see a large man, his hands bound and duct tape around his mouth, being dragged by a small woman with a very large scowl on her face. 

As Max shoved the big man into the backseat, Logan watched the door to Alec and Will's room. The two soon appeared, Alec as jaunty as ever, while Will lagged behind. Will looked like he hadn't slept for days. Large purple bags ringed his eyes, and his step was sluggish. There was no way he was ready to go back into his father's house. He was going to break down, Logan could see it. He'd seen it before.

In fact, the very first words Will spoke were "What the holy fuck?" An outburst which prompted Max to clap her hand over his mouth, and hiss not very nice things into his ear, but he didn't seem to hear anything she said. Instead, he was staring at Scarface with a terrified look in his eyes. Under the duct tape, Scarface seemed to be smiling.

"What now?" Alec sighed impatiently.

"That's the guy," Will stuttered as soon as Max removed her hand. "That's the guy my Dad killed!"

From behind the layer of duct tape, Scarface laughed.

* * *

TBC... 


	17. A Bad Idea

**A/N: **Umm... what can I say? I'm sorry I haven't updated in quite a while. I just couldn't make this story do what I wanted it to do. I must have rewritten this chapter four or five times, possibly more. It's also never gone below 82 degrees in my apartment for the last week (not even at 2:00 in the morning), and I find it terribly difficult to write when all I want to do is sit under the fan wearing a shirt that was in the freezer all night. I appreciate your patience, and I will hopefully be able to continue posting regularly. The story's almost done, anyway. Then, hopefully, I'll be able to try that freezer thing.

**A/N:** Oh, and, on a private matter, merely an inconsequential sidenote, today was the first day of classes at SDSU. I like my school.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: A Bad Idea

Logan had seen some large houses in his lifetime. It came with the name and genealogy, along with the charity balls and fancy dinner parties. The Patterson estate, however, was an _exceedingly_ large piece of property. By San Francisco standards, it was practically a separate fiefdom. Before the Pulse, a palace like Patterson's would never have existed. The land was far too expensive. After the Pulse, and with his ill-gotten fortune, William Lucas-Patterson II had swooped in and bought the property his home now sat upon from the original owners. The sellers were only too grateful for the large cash sums Patterson offered, which were undoubtedly quite a bit smaller than would have been expected in better times. In short, Patterson took advantage of the misery of others in order to build himself a kingdom. It was just another reason for Logan to despise him. Though, as Max later pointed out, someone had to clear the land and build the place. At least some families were able to put food on the table due to Patterson's immorality.

* * *

It was a bad idea. For so many reasons, and on so many levels, it was just a bad idea. This wasn't about Will Patterson anymore. This was about Max, and she was walking into a trap. Logan had tried his best to convince Max that what she planned to do was completely insane, especially after the obvious change in what they had previously assumed to be their situation. She wouldn't hear a word of it. She was convinced that her plan would work, so the only thing left to do was cover her when she went in.

* * *

The Patterson home was freakishly quiet as they navigated its cold, marble hallways. Their footsteps rang out against the shining floors, and their breathing seemed to echo throughout the entire length of the house. It felt more like an abandoned museum, or even some sort of tomb, than an actual home, and Logan fought down a wave of dread as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. They had entered the compound without difficulty, and then... they hadn't met anyone at all. On an estate as large as Patterson's one would expect to find gardeners, housekeepers, a pool boy... _anything _but the dead silence that surrounded them. 

They were walking almost in single file. Max led the way, navigating their way through the maze-like house. Will, with his intimate knowledge of the building, might have been a better choice to lead, but there was still a feeling of distrust between him and his saviors/captors, and Max refused to let anyone else be the first in the line of fire merely to aid her in her agenda. Luckily, Max seemed quite familiar with the Patterson estate. How many times had she been an invited guest in that house? How many times had she graced Patterson's table, enjoying a family dinner with the criminal and his playboy son? Logan couldn't help but wonder, and thatfamiliarmixture of jealousy and dislike flared up once more, but, as usual, he pushed it aside. It certainly was not the time for such petty and unhelpful emotions.

Behind her, Alec guided the bound and gagged Scarface, who was docile enough at the moment, but had put up a hell of a fight when Max had decided to put him in the trunk to make room for those who were actually willing to cooperate. Logan brought up the rear of their interesting little party. For effect, and for the sake of their nerves, they had duct-taped Will's mouth, but allowed him full use of his limbs. If something happened, Max didn't want him at the mercy of his father (or any of his father's goons that might have been hiding in any one of the numerous rooms around them). Nevertheless, to ensure his good behavior, Logan followed him, with one hand on the younger man's shoulder, and the other on his own gun.

"Are you sure we can't think of another plan?" Alec suddenly asked, his whisper harsh and loud in the emptiness around them.

"Shut up and trust me," Max shot back. Alec didn't answer, but turned his head to meet Logan's eyes. In Alec's expression, he saw his own fears validated, and a shiver climbed up his spine. They should not be doing this. It was a trap. It had to be.

* * *

He hadn't expected it, although Alec and Max evidently had. Perhaps they'd heard the telltale sounds of human life - breathing, coughing, hearts beating - or perhaps not. However they anticipated it, when they turned the corner and saw four very large, very heavily armed men in tailored black suits, Alec and Max were already in soldier mode, their bodies tense, and yet... relaxed somehow. Logan was left to bite down his own surprise at the living barrier that had suddenly sprung up between them and the end of the hallway. Will, evidently as startled as Logan, practically jumped out of his skin. When the four men raised their guns, Logan could feel him shiver, or was that just Logan projecting? He didn't stop to consider it. He merely raised his gun and pointed it at the nearest man in black. 

"X5-452," the smallest of their adversaries announced, his eyes trailing slowly up from Max's toes to her eyes. He smirked as he did so, and Logan's trigger finger itched.

Shit. Shitshitshit. Logan tried to remind himself that they had known going in that Patterson probably knew more than they wanted him to, probably knew about Manticore. Yet, a complete stranger addressing Max by her Manticore designation made him sick to his stomach.

"Who are you?" Alec asked calmly.

"We're you're escort," the man replied coolly.

Oh… Logan could have groaned aloud. Escorts were never good. They were especially unwelcome when they were armed. As heavily armed as these men were, they were about the least desirable escort on the planet.

"I think we can find our own way," Max replied smoothly. She moved. It was just the slightest, most innocent gesture, but Logan saw it. Perhaps more importantly, Alec saw it. His answer to the gesture was so immediate, that Logan wasn't even sure he actually saw it. It seemed more likely that, knowing what had happened, his brain had supplied a fitting image. However he saw it, he watched Scarface fall helplessly into the startled "escorts," unable to stop himself. He was a victim to the impetus of the push Alec had given him. As Scarface flopped, fishlike, among the men he'd bowled over, there came the blur of the two X5s as they disarmed and incapacitated their aggressors.

Almost gleefully, Alec began to pick through the assorted weapons of the defeated men. He picked up an extra handgun and shoved it into his jacket pocket, and threw another at the defenseless Will. Max scowled when she saw it, but said nothing. If nothing else, Logan knew, Will's reaction to their latest adventure seemed to prove, once and for all, that he really wasn't involved in their current little nightmare.

"Stick it in the back waistband of your pants," Alec instructed poor, gagged, dumbfounded Will, who could only stare at the complex metal instrument in his hands. "You don't have to use it, just wave it around if you have to. Now, do it." Will obeyed Alec's stern tone, and, as he shakily hid the gun away, Alec gently took his arms and kept them behind his back. From the front, Will appeared to be just a closely bound as Scarface, who was currently struggling to his feet.

"Good idea," Max allowed curtly. "Let's keep going." She met Logan's eyes, and it almost felt as if she wanted him to read the emotions there. She wanted him to know why they were doing this. She had to have answers now. It was too personal. Patterson had stepped over an invisible line. By watching her, and taping her, he'd violated her. She was going to have answers. Logan nodded slightly, trying to convey his acquiescence. He would help her find her answers, and then he would help her recover from the humiliation and pain. She seemed to understand his silent message, because she turned, her dark hair flying out behind her, and started back down the hallway.

* * *

**TBC...**


	18. Two People Are Shot

**A/N:** I'm afraid I must beg of you all your humble pardons. I meant to have this done so very long ago. I must confess that I was unprepared for the workload that my return to school would entail. Nevertheless, it is the weekend, and so I will be finished by Sunday midnight, if I can. Here we go...

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Two People Are Shot

When the shot rang out in the deathly silent hall, Logan could have sworn he felt it in his bones. A searing pain bloomed in the small of his back – not real pain, but a memory as fresh as the blood that spattered against the wall beside him. It was over in an instant, but that instant was all it took to completely rob him of breath. In the next moment, when his senses returned, he saw Scarface lying in an undignified heap on the marble floor, dark blood quickly pooling around him, and Alec and Max already poised for action. Then his eyes traveled down the length of the cold hallway, finally resting on the man who had a handgun pointed right at Max's heart.

He was one of those men who only grow handsome with age and an increase in profits. He was perfectly groomed – his silvery hair and beard perfectly clipped and trimmed – and his suit looked to be of the finest quality. Nevertheless, the scowl on his face lent him a decidedly sinister appearance, as did the gun in his hand. His eyes frozen to that dangerous piece of metal, Logan forgot about his own experiences, and concentrated on fighting down the nausea that resulted from seeing a weapon aimed at Max, and at such a distance that it would be impossible for her assailant to miss.

"Well, you know what they say about good help," the man shrugged, but his aim never wavered.

"That it's illegal to kill them?" Max snapped.

"Or maybe you don't. Mr. Cale could probably tell you. He _is_ from a good family after all."

"I don't recall my father ever shooting the maid," Logan replied dryly, doing his best not to react to the instinctive feeling of panic produced by the man's obvious knowledge of Logan's own background. He remembered his own gun, and slowly raised it. Now it was two guns against one – Alec and Logan versus Patterson, with Max in the middle, unarmed and desperate for answers.

"What do you want, Patterson?" Max asked, slowly crossing her arms in front of her in that scornful way that was so decidedly her own. She and Patterson stared each other down. Alec, Logan, and Will were ignored. This was a battle between the two of them.

"Oh, it's simple, really," Patterson sighed dramatically. "I want my money back."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Alec mumbled under his breath. Logan glanced over in time to catch the X5's raised eyebrows, but Patterson ignored the sarcasm just as easily as he seemed to disregard Alec's very existence. His aim on Max never faltered. His hand didn't even tremble as he kept it trained on her heart. From what Patterson learned on the surveillance tapes, he probably knew that neither Logan nor Alec would make a move that would endanger Max, and, so long as he was aiming at her, he was guaranteed their good behavior.

The staring contest between Max and Patterson continued. The smirk on the man's face was goading, as if he was daring her to figure out for herself what his motives were. However, Max did not seem to be in any hurry to oblige him. She never said a word, just stood defiantly in front of him, and it seemed to Logan that she was taunting Patterson with her silence, her contempt, and her strength. The length of the wordless confrontation was no more than five minutes, but it seemed to crawl by so slowly that, when Patterson finally spoke again, Logan felt he'd already aged at least five years.

"Twenty years ago, I invested twelve million dollars into Manticore," Patterson finally spat, though he had by no means lost his cool.

Well, that made a little more sense. Patterson was in bed with Manticore. It didn't explain why they were standing in the hallway of his mansion, with guns pointed at each other, while he and Max stared each other down like two cowboys in one of the pre-Pulse Westerns, but it did fit another piece into the giant jigsaw puzzle that was this situation. At least they had the man's motives narrowed down to money and Manticore. That didn't explain the voyeurism, but maybe that was just the sicko's thing. As Logan's thoughts raced through the consequences of what they were learning, Patterson continued to speak. As he listened closer, however, all thoughts of diagnosing Patterson's probable psychological deviance left Logan's mind, and the chill realization of what was going on slowly crawled up Logan's spine, leaving a feeling of icy emptiness in its wake.

"I never saw a dime of it returned. Not a single cent. They took my money and ran with it." He chuckled, a low, dangerous, unnerving sound, "Well, actually, Manticore took the money, and you – _you_, 452, and your little friends – ran with the technology."

Technology. Patterson Electronics. Of course, it all made perfect sense. Patterson was a businessman. He didn't care who he crushed, and he certainly didn't care to whom he sold his technology. As long as he received the price he wanted, he would sell anything to anyone. He was going to sell Max and Alec to the highest bidder. He probably already had a buyer lined up.

Max shrugged nonchalantly, "So?"

Did she know what Patterson had in mind? She had to. Logan watched her carefully. Her stance hadn't changed, not really... Yet… was there a slight hesitancy in her stance, was she tenser than she had been a moment before? Logan couldn't tell if she'd figured it out, or if he was merely praying she had. No, she'd probably solved it long before him, right? Hell, she'd been in a similar situation before. Logan chanced another glance in Alec's direction and was rewarded by a slight nod. Alec knew, and Max must know as well.

"So?" Patterson laughed. "So your ride will be here any minute now. I hope you and your 'cousin' enjoy your new home. I've heard South Africa is lovely this time of year."

There it was. Patterson openly acknowledged that he was planning to sell Manticore technology, in the form of the two X5s, to the South Africans, to the Reds, most likely. How had the Reds become a problem again, and without Logan even realizing it? He felt a familiar twinge of guilt. He should have kept closer tabs on the situation. If he'd known the Reds had regrouped, he might have known the direction this was heading in before they were forced to crash into it.

Suddenly, and without warning, in the instant Logan was mentally kicking himself, Patterson was no longer pointing his gun at Max. He was pointing it at Logan, who could only acknowledge that it was certainly an interesting turn of events. He froze as his eyes again locked on the gun. It wasn't pointed at his heart, but at his head. Patterson didn't mean for Logan to be a negotiation tool. He was just… unnecessary. Patterson had what he wanted, and Logan wasn't needed.

Once again the memories of the bullets ripping through his back, the muscles, the nerves, the instant of pain followed by nauseating numbness, and then blackness, all flooded through Logan's memory. He remembered gasping desperately for breath, a flash of holding Max in his arms as she died, hospital rooms... Well, at least being shot in the head was bound to hurt less, he figured. Tearing his eyes from the gun, Logan forced himself to stay focused on his surroundings. Alec still had his gun trained on Patterson. For that matter, so did Logan himself. Max, had turned slightly, so she could see both Patterson and Logan. That was when it occurred to Logan that he wasn't going to die just then.

"If you don't go," Patterson said slowly, and once more Logan realized that only seconds had passed, "I'll shoot him in the head. If you resist, I'll shoot him in the gut," at which point he lowered his gun to aim at Logan's waist and added, "which, as you must know, is a long, drawn out, and very painful way to die."

Well, so much for not being a negotiation tool. He met Max's eyes from what seemed like a great distance, though he was only a few feet away, and realized that he was being ridiculous. It was three against one. With a short sigh of impatience, and in a move that surprised even himself, though he only realized it later, Logan lowered his gun, and shot Patterson in the leg.

Alec reacted as only a highly trained, battle-hardened thinker can react. He knew what needed to be done, and he didn't wait for instructions. In an instant, he was pushing the staggering Patterson to the floor. He wrenched the gun out of the injured man's grip in what looked like a painful move, and kicked it down the hall, far from Patterson's reach. He did a quick search for further weapons, and, finding none, proceeded to place a heavy foot on Patterson's chest to keep him on the ground. Then, he looked to Max. It was, after all, her show.

"Remind me not to tag along the next time you two decide to get a home movie back," he quipped, though his voice was far from amused, and, despite the situation, Logan almost laughed. Maybe it was rubbing off, the way in which the X5s relieved tension by making jokes. Max grimaced as she turned her attention to her former-future-almost-maybe-father-in-law, who was gripping his leg, an anguished look on his face, his body curled halfway into the fetal position.

"Time to answer some questions," Max said calmly as she looked down into the injured man's face. Patterson ignored her, though only because his attention was somewhat occupied by the pain in his leg.

* * *

**A/N: **I decided to bring the Reds back because for Patterson to sell Max and Alec to terrorists, I would have to name a country, religion, or organization for said terrorists to belong to, and I refuse to do so. I'm going to stick with what I was given in the show. TBC... and with all haste, I assure you. 


	19. That's The Answer?

**A/N:** Oh, yes, another update so soon. It feels like old times... Anyway, the following is what happens when my background noise is some random episode of CSI.

* * *

Chapter 19: That's The Answer?

"Fucking shit!" Patterson screamed as Max tapped "lightly" on his wound with the toe of her boot.

"Watch it, or I'll clean out your mouth with soap," she warned.

"You little bitch, I'll kill you," Patterson replied with an angry snarl.

In the few minutes he'd been on the ground, wavering between consciousness and a dead faint, Patterson had lost all that was debonair and groomed about him. He snarled at Max, and every other word out of his mind was a profanity. It was almost amusing. Almost.

Max pressed a little harder on Patterson's leg, and the stream of curses that escaped the wounded man's lips was enough to make a teenage boy blush. His reward was a swift kick, and, in response to the pained howl, Logan grimaced and turned away. This really wasn't his area of expertise. He'd had some experience in the hit-him-until-he-talks line of interrogation, but generally on the receiving end. Luckily, he'd always been perfectly capable of cajoling people into telling him what he wanted to know. Needless to say, Patterson wasn't going to be won over by eloquence, so Max was in charge of the questioning.

Avoiding the interrogation, his gaze was suddenly arrested by the sight of Scarface, whose body lay in a slowly-growing pool of deep red blood. A wave of nausea hit Logan as he quickly stepped away from the grotesque puddle. The reminder caused every feeling of pity and empathy to leave Logan in a flash. Yes, he'd shot Patterson in the leg, and the man was clearly suffering, but Patterson had shot down another human being in cold blood. For all his airs, he was nothing but a crook and a murderer. In truth, the man was just as slimy as Logan had expected. He absolutely reeked of that sense of entitlement that Logan had been fighting against his entire life. Patterson had made a great deal of money by stepping on innocent people, and he believed that gave him the right to continue to do so. It would have made Logan sick to think of it... if he hadn't already been feeling ill.

"Ready to answer some questions?" Max asked Patterson calmly, her voice sweet and innocent as she increased the pressure on the bullet wound.

Patterson only gurgled. Undoubtedly taking that for acceptance, Max removed her foot. Everyone in the hall took a deep breath, with the exception of the late Scarface, who would draw breath no more. For the space of that one inhale and exhale, the world calmed. The dead man, the injured man, and the blood leaving its insidious polish on the cold marble floors all disappeared. They regrouped. They focused. They began again.

Taking care to sidestep the blood, Logan approached Patterson and none too gently helped him into a sitting position, letting him rest his back against the wall. It wasn't a gesture meant to increase the man's comfort, so much as hasten his answers. It was likely that Patterson would be more inclined to answer when he was upright, rather than rolling about on the floor like a landed fish.

"Who was your contact at Manticore?"

Patterson didn't reply. He merely sat, leaning heavily against the wall, his body tensed against the pain that was flooding through his body. Max repeated her question, and again Patterson refused to answer. Her heavy boot made contact with the dark stain on Patterson's pants, and the man screeched in frustrated pain.

"Lieutenant something-or-other," he finally groaned. "He... he was fired two months later. It's not... important." Max paused to glance over her shoulder at Logan, and he recognized the look she threw him. _At least he hadn't said Lydecker, White, or Sandeman - _three names Logan hoped to never hear again. The answer seemed to satisfy Max, as she quickly moved on to the subject that was really on her mind.

"Why the cameras?" she asked darkly.

"I wanted answers," Patterson shrugged.

"Okay, sounds familiar," Logan muttered, trying not to let his impatience show. "Answers to what?"

Patterson groaned. He was losing a lot of blood, and he knew it. When he finally answered, he was gasping with effort. "I just wanted to know who she was. My son was thinking of marrying her. Then… inconsistencies with her story, the visits from her 'cousin' at strange hours and without announcement. I… I added equipment slowly. Then, one night, they had a conversation about Manticore..."

"That's it?" Max asked, making no effort to control the frustration in her voice.

"That's it. I just… saw my chance."

Max reached down and grabbed a handful of Patterson's gray hair, forcing his head up to look at her. From where he stood, Logan could see the flash in her eyes. He could see the pain, the anger, the fire simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn't help but wonder what she was doing in the cold, blood-soaked hallway. All she wanted was a normal life. How did she keep ending up in these cesspools of pain and aggravation?

"Manticore doesn't explain the cameras in the bedroom," Max spat, leaning down closer to him, her eyes drilling fearlessly down into those of her antagonist. A small, dark, disgusting smile crept over Patterson's lips as his eyes left Max's and scanned her body with obvious appreciation.

"That needs an explanation?" he asked hoarsely. Disgusted, Max threw him back against the wall. She looked like she was about to vomit, and it was enough to make Logan wish he'd shot Patterson in the heart rather than the leg. Apparently, he wasn't the only one.

The world stopped as the shots rang out, one after the other, again and again, the thunder rolling through that hallway of death. It was all Logan could do to shove himself against the opposite wall, and he never knew whether he pulled Max with him or she pulled him with her. He only remembered holding on to her, watching in horror as the bullets ripped through the elegant suit, the dark stains spreading quickly as Patterson's chest bounced like a marionette on a string with every impact of burning metal into skin. He was dead in seconds, though his end was nowhere near as swift as that of the late lackey whose body graced the floor not ten feet away.

"Fucking disgusting son of a bitch!"

Apparently, dirty mouths ran in the family.

* * *

They'd forgotten about Will. They'd forgotten they gave Will a gun. After Scarface had been downed, Logan had forgotten about his "hostage." He'd assumed that Patterson wouldn't harm his own son, and he had been correct. He hadn't even considered the possibility that the son would go after the father. In the relatively short time that they'd known each other, Will hadn't struck Logan as someone with violent tendencies. He wasn't the type of man who could handle a gun, or so Logan had thought. He'd obviously been wrong. 

Will collapsed as soon as his grim job was finished, and he didn't move again until long after the echoes of gunfire faded from the hallway. His eyes were frozen on his father's unmoving body, staring at the result of his work. No tears ran from his eyes, and no sobs escaped his lips. He was calm – unbelievably, incredibly, silently calm – and he was still.

The air finally rushed back into Logan's lungs several moments after the last bullet was fired. He relaxed his grip on Max's waist as she disentangled herself from the undignified pile they'd made on the floor. There were splatters of blood shining on her arm and clothes, and a look of grim determination on her face, but she also appeared to be shaking slightly. Looking down, Logan saw that he was similarly spattered, and he was also shaking. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and did a quick check. Thankfully, Max appeared to be unharmed, and all his own limbs were accounted for.

It was Alec who moved to remove the gun from Will's hands. There was no response from the stunned son. He didn't move, didn't say anything. He merely allowed the weapon to be removed from his grasp. Cold, empty silence reigned as the three survivors reoriented themselves. Patterson was dead. He was dead, the Reds were, apparently, on their way, and the police had a way of finding out about double murders. They needed to leave, and they needed to do it quickly. That was fine with Logan. The sooner he and Max were back in Seattle, the better. They promptly helped Will to his feet, and proceeded to make their exit.

* * *

**A/N: **Almost done... thank goodness. Did I mention that I'm writing this by candlelight? How very Post-Pulse of me. Actually, every lightbulb in my apartment burnt out today... every single one. I think it might be Karma, but I'm not exactly sure what I did to deserve it. _Sigh..._ daylight in six hours. 


	20. Denouement

**Disclaimer: **Although I've been playing with them for twenty chapters, the characters, background story, names, etc. do not belong to me, and I do not claim anything but the plot of my stories and the characters I invent. Now, if Cameron and Co. want to buy the rights to the Patterson family, I'd be willing to negotiate...

**A/N: **Well, here it is. Apparently, when I said Sunday midnight, I meant Wednesday midnight. This is the last installment of my little epic:

* * *

Chapter Twenty: Denouement 

It was raining when they finally arrived in Seattle. Night had enveloped the world some hours before, and only the professionals and the compulsively nocturnal roamed the darkened streets, though very few chose to show themselves. The entire city seemed to have somehow calmed, as if, for once, it would see night for what it was – the time of rest, the time of repose. The moon shone half-heartedly from behind the bank of storm clouds, casting very little light, but continuing to bestow a promise of beauty and peace on the otherwise dirty and corrupted city.

The rainy, dreary night was beautiful to Logan. It was the night he was bringing Max home, and it would have taken another Pulse to destroy the almost childlike excitement that grew steadily within him as the miles between him and his home rapidly evaporated. He was going home, and Max was going with him._ They_ were going home.

_

* * *

_

The goodbyes between Max, formerly known as Grazia de Mayo, and William Lucas-Patterson III were strained and uncomfortable, though it was apparent that neither of them was very sorry to do it. The way Will looked at Max was no longer unbearably loving, but almost fearful. She was the mysterious being who had turned his entire life upside down, and it was clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her. The woman he'd fallen in love with no longer existed, and he would mourn the loss of her while he grieved over the death of his father.

They offered to take him back to Seattle. They offered to keep him safe, to intercede on his behalf with the San Francisco authorities. Politely, but with a hint of that instinctive nervousness that undoubtedly urged him to remove himself from their company as quickly as possible, he'd refused their offer. Logan tried his best to persuade the younger man that Eyes Only would be an important ally, but even his eloquent tongue could not do its job. For all his effort, he could not convince Will to return with him to Seattle, and, as not one of them truly wanted him there, he was allowed to go on his way without too much difficulty. They'd dropped him off at the airport, and hoped he would successfully board the first plane out of the country. He'd return when things settled down a bit, and he'd have a famous, expensive lawyer with him to solve all of his problems.

"After all," he'd said quietly, avoiding Max's eyes with determination, "rich guys don't get convicted of murder." Logan had almost replied that it was attitudes like that which had led him pursue the elder Patterson in the first place, but he kept his silence. It was very difficult to undue over twenty years of brainwashing. In the end, Will was just as elitist as his father; he was just more squeamish. It was disappointing, but there was nothing left to be done.

The parting with Alec was far more agreeable. He was heading back to Canada, and would undoubtedly return to Seattle afterward. At most, he would be back to annoy them in three weeks, and Logan wasn't sorry for it. Alec was a friend, no matter how hard they all tried to deny it, and he was, in a way, Max's family. However, that didn't mean that Logan wanted to be trapped in a car with the cheeky transgenic for the long ride home. In the end, he was indescribably relieved when Alec made known his plans for making off with Grazia's famed Mercedes - after removing all the bugs, of course.

Thus, Logan and Max were left to find their own way home, which was exactly what they both really wanted. They were finally alone, and they exulted in the time together. They talked, really talked, and while a car is not generally considered the best place to conduct deep, heartfelt conversations, it was somehow easier for them. Sometimes it's easier to confess things when one doesn't have to look one's listener in the eye. It's certainly easier to keep one's hands to oneself when driving, even when listening to what amounts to a declaration of love and devotion, and even when the listener feels the same as the speaker.

* * *

They were exhausted when they fell into bed. It had been a very long, very emotional, and very bloody day. Yet, somehow, as they lay side-by-side on the large and comfortable bed, weariness fell away and all thoughts of sleep were forgotten. In the blind and silent darkness, they allowed themselves happiness. Their movements were instinctual, their sighs and moans involuntary, but the emotions behind every movement, the thrill produced by every meeting of skin, and the ache for contact that they could only hope would never be fully satisfied, all of it overwhelmed them. 

Later, as he was lying in bed, listening to the rain brushing rhythmically against his windows, fingers lightly tracing the curves of Max's body, Logan was awed by the feelings of contentment and tranquility that she could produce in him. The world felt safe and just and right when he made love to her. He hadn't felt that life was fair since his childhood, since before his mother's death, but, with Max in his arms, all was peace.

Sadly, sleep was threatening to steal away his current feelings of blissful comfort, and, though he tried to fight it, though he wanted the night Max first slept in his bed to last forever, he couldn't help but recognize that his mind was wandering. Each random thought became longer, more relaxed and less focused, the beautiful, rhythmic mixture of their breath and the rain lulled him, and when he finally gave in, he couldn't help but remember something an English professor had once told him. "Every time it rains in a book or a movie, pay attention. It's usually a sign of rebirth." The thought made him smile. He certainly felt like a different man than he'd been four days earlier.

**Il est fini.**

* * *

**A/N:** I just want to take a minute and thank everyone who actually made it through all twenty chapters. I can't even believe it lasted this long. It wasn't supposed to last much longer than chapter seven, really, but then a plot revealed itself, and I felt that I had to follow it through. I apologize to anyone who might be disappointed. 

**A/N2.0:** Oh, and the lines about rain scenes - I had a wonderful English professor for three out of my four semesters at Cuesta Community College, an amazing and very intelligent man. He taught me a lot, and I miss him, so I guess this is my little shout-out to him. He's right about the rain scenes (/shower scenes/near-drowning scenes), by the way. Don't believe me? I could give you a list.

**A/N3.0:** I have another story in the works that I'm hoping to post in the next few days. With any luck, I haven't scared off all of my lovely readers who have been so wonderful to me.


End file.
